#please don’t try and take that away from anyone
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celestiamour · 1 day ago
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MEOW MEOW MEOW SE-MI SMUT X F!READER PLL,ZZPLZLZZ IM ON MY KNEES PLZ
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ft. se-mi x f! reader — squid game
╰₊✧ an examination of piercings turns into something more┊0.8k words
contains: smut!! dom se-mi & sub reader┊tongue piercing, receiving oral, one mention of needles, innocent reader, se-mi is older & called “unnie”
➤ author's note: glad to see the girls getting just as much love as the boys in my inbox
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“did they hurt?” you asked, gently holding your friend’s face in your hands and admiring her like a newly discovered painting from the renaissance era. it was mesmerizing how the light shone off the metal, and you couldn’t stop staring, even going as far as to run your finger over the little star of her nose piercing in awe without thinking. it was so damn cute how fascinated you seemed to be by these decisions she made nearly a decade ago in her teenage years.
normally, se-mi wouldn’t have let anyone put their hands on her and would probably punch them if they went anywhere near her face. yet here she sat in her bed allowing herself to be adored by you. she wondered if this was how cats felt when being coddled by their owners, the spoiled white persian kinds you see in movies with diamond collars and more toys than what they know to do with. “no, it was just like a pinch.”
“i couldn’t imagine that— having a needle pierce my skin, i mean,” you shivered. “my ears were pierced when i was a baby, but even then, they’re a little crooked because i wouldn’t stop crying.”
she giggled at the thought of it. “it’s not the needle that’s painful, it’s the healing process. the days after i got my tongue pierced were the worst, i couldn’t eat for days.”
“you have a tongue piercing?”
humming to confirm, she cheekily stuck out her tongue to show off the metal pierced through the muscle, even flexing it to flaunt the jewelry. it was extremely amusing to see how flustered you were becoming even though you tried not to show it.
“why did you get it pierced when it’s not even visible all the time?”
“cause it feels good for…”
“feels good for what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head in a way that made her want to eat you alive.
“well… it’s kinda hard to explain, but i could show you if you like…”
you didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was talking about at first until you found yourself flipped on your back with your shorts dragged to your ankles along with your panties and her head in between your shaking thighs, sliding her hot tongue between your folds and savoring the taste collecting on her palette. this wasn’t something best friends did, but you made no attempt to push her away and allowed her to do as she pleased.
“s-se-mi unnie…” you whined out, fingers finding and tangling with her dark locks yet also doing the contradictory action of wiggling your hips away. you’ve never felt this way before, knots twisting in your stomach and fire spreading under your skin as you try to wiggle away from the foreign sensation that felt too good to be real.
“ah, ah, ah, don’t run from me, you taste so fucking sweet.” her grip on your legs tightened as she pulled you closer to her, swirling the cold pierced metal across your throbbing clit and enjoying your moans like music. “i wish we had done this sooner, don’t you? god, i don’t think i could ever get enough now that i’m here.”
you couldn’t even verbalize a proper answer with nothing but pathetic whimpers falling from your mouth, eyes flickering between her and the ceiling as they rolled back with tears threatening to drip down the waterline. did things like this always feel so good, or was se-mi simply an expert who knew your body better than you did yourself with age and experience? silly little questions you would ponder if you weren’t getting your brains fucked out by just her tongue, making her wonder in return how you would handle taking her strap when you were already going crazy like this. (you have no idea how long she’s been fantasizing about having you like this, sitting in this very bed thinking about your soft skin and lips against hers with her hand crammed in her pants.)
“fucckk, ‘m gonna- ngh!!” god, you didn’t know the word to match your oncoming orgasm, you just knew a peak was about to be reached thanks to her talented tongue.
“you’re gonna cum baby,” she chuckled. “don’t be scared, just let yourself go for me.”
suddenly her plush lips wrapped around your delicate pearl and sucked hard, and like activating a button, you cried out in pleasure and unraveled all over her face, back arched and hands tugging on her hair. she gladly licked up the messy remnants with a smirk, proud to have made you climax in less than five minutes.
“you did soooo good for me baby,” she drawled and pressed a few sloppy kisses on your twitching cunt as a reward, “think you can give me one more?”
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quarterlifekitty · 1 day ago
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Can we pretty please have König with the secret baby trope?
/)/)
( . .)
( づ♡
I offer a little bunny as a bribe [I really hope it works and doesn’t end up misshapen lol]
Bunny looks good to me…. I accept
So in this, I imagine that you were something of a friends with benefits to him. While it wasn’t a sugaring situation, he did insist upon treating you to a nice dinner whenever you met up. When he’d come home on leave, he’d reach out, you’d meet up and fuck, and eventually he’d ship back out and the cycle repeated.
Truthfully, he’d been planning on trying to make things less casual for a long time. He’s not the kind of person who can fuck someone repeatedly and not fall in love, as much as he tried to be when this began. He decided that on his next leave, he would tell you.
He didn’t expect his next leave to be as far away as it turned out to be. While he is within his rights as a mercenary to decline extending his time on the job, he often doesn’t. He’s a workaholic and one of the small number of people at KorTac with no family to speak of, so he often takes on the burden staying on longer when needed. The time gets away from him. He’s gone longer than a year.
He comes back, anxious about where he stands with you. What you had hadn’t exactly been exclusive, and it’s hard to believe that you wouldn’t have been snapped up in that time away. To him, there can be no shortage of other men in your life that are crazy about you.
He contacts you. You tell him that you’re not really in a position to meet up with him, and you don’t really know if you ever will be again, honestly. His hands are sweating and his fingers fuck up on the keyboard all the time, so he just decides to call. Ask you what he’s done, if there’s someone else, if you know that he’s madly in love—
Not thirty seconds into the phone call, just barely past the niceties and pleasant greetings, when all of those questions are on the tip of his tongue— he hears crying. A baby crying. You tell him hurriedly that you’ll have to call him back. He decides he just can’t wait that long. He goes to your place.
You answer the door with a baby in a sling around you, tucked up to your chest, markedly more calm than it had been over the phone. Red hair. Your expression is a little tightened, like you hadn’t really wanted to see him at the door.
“As you can see, I’m not really able to attend a dick appointment right now.”
Fuck, is that what it was? You thought he just wanted sex?
A Quick look at your apartment tells him there isn’t anyone else. No men’s shoes by the door. Photos on the wall are just you and your friends— no partner in sight. It’s also kind of a mess. If there was a man in your life, he deserved to have his head beat in for leaving you to deal with all of this alone all day.
Then comes the quick mental math.
“That’s not what I want. Let me come in, schatz. Let me talk to you.”
It breaks his heart to see how reticent you are to let him in. It’s part and parcel with how tired you look.
“Look, if you’re wondering— yes, he’s yours, biologically.” Well, that clarification at the end stings a little. “But it was my choice to keep him, so I don’t expect anything from you. If this feels like an obligation to you, I’d prefer if we just cut things off here.”
The words that follow spill from his mouth uncontrollably.
“I don’t just want him— I want you. I want the both of you. I want it to be us,” he nearly babbles, hoping what he says is even halfway coherent.
“You’re all I think of when I’m away. I cannot lie and say I’d imagined the… the order of events would be this way. But I’d thought of it— with you. Please let me in, and… and let me meet him properly, ja?”
There are tears in his eyes when his son holding his finger for the first time, not ten minutes later.
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rmview · 2 days ago
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they want you back, ENHYPEN.
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featuring — enhypen members x gn!reader ( masterlist )
summary — a reaction of what happens when the enhypen boys realize they still have feelings for you after they broke up with you! ( can be read as part 2 of this )
contents — mentions of past relationships, hurt and comfort.
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hee ⊹ seung
heeseung never took relationships lightly. when he ended things with you, it wasn’t because he didn’t care. it was because he thought he owed it to himself — and to you — to confront lingering feelings for his ex. he hated hurting you, but he convinced himself it was the right decision.
months passed, and the closure he sought didn’t come. instead, it became painfully clear that his feelings for his ex had long since faded. what lingered was his guilt for breaking your heart and the empty ache of missing you.
one evening, heeseung found himself scrolling through old photos on his phone. there you were, smiling at him in that way that made everything feel lighter. his heart clenched as he realized he hadn’t smiled like that in months. without thinking, he typed a message hoping you hadn’t blocked him: “can we talk? i know i don’t deserve it, but i need to apologize.”
surprisingly, your text came a day later in agreement and heeseung spent the entire week rehearsing what he’d say when he’d see you. sitting across from you at a quiet café, he felt uncharacteristically nervous. “i’ve been a coward,” he admitted, his voice low. “i thought ending things was the right choice, but all i’ve done is regret it.”
he paused, his hands clasped tightly. “i know i hurt you, and i can’t undo that. but i need you to know… it wasn’t because i didn’t care. it’s because i was scared. scared of how much i feel for you. i’m not sure if it’s love yet, but i realize you’re someone i can be happy with. and i want that with you.”
he didn’t ask you to forgive him right away. instead, he let his actions speak. over the weeks that followed, heeseung found small ways to show you his sincerity: sending you messages that reminded him of you, leaving handwritten notes on your doorstep, and being there when you needed support.
“i’ll do whatever it takes,” he told you one evening, his gaze steady. “even if it takes years, i’ll prove to you that you’re the only one i want.”
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jay ⊹
jay was confident in many things, but when it came to his feelings, he was often harder on himself than necessary. breaking up with you had been his attempt at doing the “right thing.” he thought unresolved feelings for his ex were unfair to you, and he didn’t want to risk holding you back. but what he hadn’t anticipated was how much your absence would affect him.
the realization came slowly at first — a quiet longing when he saw something that reminded him of you. then, one night, it hit him like a wave. he was sitting alone, scrolling through a playlist you’d made together. as the songs played, memories of your time together flooded back, each one sharper than the last. he felt so stupid realizing he wasted moments with someone like you over brooding feelings.
“i was an idiot,” jay muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. picking up his phone, he typed out a message: “i know i don’t deserve your time, but please, can we talk?”
your reply back was late, but a godsend, and meeting you again felt like a second chance he didn’t deserve. “i’ve spent months trying to figure out what went wrong,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “and the answer was staring me in the face the whole time. it wasn’t my ex. it wasn’t anyone else. it was me… being too blind to see what i had right in front of me.”
jay wasn’t one for empty promises. over the following weeks, he showed you his sincerity through thoughtful gestures — sending flowers with notes that said, “thinking of you today,” or surprising you with small things he remembered you loved. “i don’t want to rush you,” he told you one day. “but i’ll wait as long as it takes for you to trust me again.”
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jake ⊹
jake believed in following his heart, but breaking up with you had been the hardest decision he’d ever made. he thought he needed to confront lingering feelings for his ex before moving forward, but as time passed, it became glaringly obvious: it wasn’t his ex he missed. it was you.
one evening, jake found himself at a bookstore you’d both loved. his fingers brushed over the spine of a book you’d recommended, and the memory of your excited voice came rushing back. his chest tightened as he realized how much he’d taken you for granted. he found himself staring at the book for a few moments in silent contemplation. what was wrong with him?
without overthinking, jake dialed your number, his gaze never leaving the book. “hey,” he said, when you answered after a few rings, his voice shaky. “can we meet? there’s something i need to tell you.”
when you agreed, jake felt equal parts relief and anxiety. seeing you again, his usual bright demeanor dimmed. “i was wrong,” he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. “i thought i needed closure, but the truth is… i really needed you.”
jake poured his heart out, apologizing for the hurt he’d caused and promising to make things right. over the weeks that followed, he was relentless in his efforts to show you he’d changed. he left little notes on your doorstep, sent you your favorite snacks, and even wrote you a heartfelt letter.
“i know i don’t deserve another chance,” he told you one day. “but i’m asking for one anyway. because i truly can’t imagine my life without you. i know i hurt you once, but i promise to never make you feel that way again.”
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sung ⊹ hoon
sunghoon always carried himself with an air of calm and composure, but breaking up with you had shattered that facade. he’d convinced himself that lingering feelings for his ex meant he wasn’t being fair to you. however, as days turned into weeks, he realized he had made a terrible mistake.
the memory of your shared moments haunted him — your laughter, your quirks, the way you made him feel understood in ways no one else could. he found himself going through old photos and videos that you’d take on dates and send him, his heart aching with each one he swiped through.
one day, as he passed the skating rink where you’d gone on one of your first dates, and the sight of all the sweet couples skating around only deepened the void in his chest. he couldn’t hold back anymore. sunghoon sent you a message, simple but heartfelt: “can we meet? there’s something i need to say.”
meeting you at a quiet café the next day, sunghoon struggled to find the words. he sat across from you, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. “i thought i was doing the right thing,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i needed to sort out my feelings… but all i’ve done is realize how much i missed you.”
he looked into your eyes, the vulnerability in his gaze striking. “i was scared. scared that i wasn’t enough for you. but losing you made me see that you’re the one i can’t live without.”
over the next few weeks, sunghoon showed his sincerity in quiet but meaningful ways. he’d leave handwritten letters in your mailbox, recounting the things he loved about you. he even invited you to one of his skating practices, a place he rarely shared with anyone, just to let you see a deeper part of him.
“i know i messed up,” he said one evening, his voice steady but emotional. “but if there’s even a small part of you that can forgive me, i’ll spend every day proving myself to you.”
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su ⊹ noo
sunoo had always been emotionally intelligent, but even he wasn’t immune to making mistakes. breaking up with you had been an impulsive decision, driven by his insecurities. he thought he needed closure with his ex, but the moment he walked away from you, regret began to creep in.
the realization hit him fully one day as he scrolled through his phone, stumbling across a picture of the two of you. in it, you were laughing at one of his jokes, your face lit up with pure joy. his heart sank. it wasn’t just the memories he missed — it was the warmth you brought into his life.
unable to hold back after days of contemplation, sunoo sent you a text: “i know i hurt you, but can we talk? i need to explain.”
when you agreed, sunoo met you at a park you both used to visit. his usual bright energy was subdued, replaced by a nervous vulnerability. “i don’t even know where to start,” he admitted, his voice soft. “i thought i was doing the right thing by letting you go, but all i did was hurt the person i care about most.”
he paused, his eyes welling with tears. “i thought i needed to figure out my past, but i realized my future… it’s you.”
sunoo made it his mission to win back your trust. he’d send you thoughtful messages, reminding you of the little things you loved. he’d surprise you with your favorite snacks or leave flowers at your door with notes that read, “you deserve the world, and i want to be the one to give it to you.”
“i know it’ll take time,” he told you one evening, his voice earnest. “but i’m not going anywhere. i’ll wait for as long as it takes.”
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jung ⊹ won
jungwon had always been the steady, thoughtful type. but even the most composed individuals could falter under pressure. breaking up with you was a decision he thought through meticulously, convinced it was the right thing to do. he believed he needed clarity about his lingering feelings for his ex before moving forward with you.
at first, he tried to rationalize his decision, telling himself it was for the best. but the emptiness that settled in his heart told a different story. every day without you felt heavier, and the clarity he sought didn’t come. instead, it was replaced by the aching realization that you were the one he truly loved.
one quiet evening, jungwon sat in his room, staring at a picture of you both on his desk. the memory of your laughter, the way your presence brought him comfort, and the love he’d seen in your eyes haunted him. he couldn’t keep pretending.
gathering his courage, jungwon called you. his voice was steady but tinged with vulnerability. “hey… i know i’m the last person you want to hear from, but could we meet? i need to talk to you.”
when you agreed, jungwon met you at a park you used to frequent. he was quiet at first, gathering his thoughts as he looked at you, guilt and longing etched into his expression. “i don’t know how to start,” he admitted softly. “i thought i was doing the right thing by letting you go. i thought i needed to figure things out… but i was wrong.”
his gaze met yours, steady despite the turmoil in his heart. “i hurt you, and i’ll regret that for the rest of my life. but i need you to know… my heart was never confused. it’s always been you.”
jungwon didn’t rush you for forgiveness. instead, he let his actions show how much he cared. over the weeks, he’d leave thoughtful messages, remembering little details about your day or sending you your favorite snacks.
he’d show up when you least expected it — not to push but simply to remind you he was there. “you deserve someone who shows you how much they care. and i want to be that person again… if you’ll let me.”
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ni ⊹ ki
ni-ki had always been the youngest, but he prided himself on being mature for his age. however, when it came to relationships, he still had room to grow. breaking up with you had been his attempt at handling his feelings responsibly, but instead, it left him feeling empty and directionless.
at first, ni-ki tried to convince himself that he’d made the right choice. but the more time passed, the more he realized how much he missed you. little things — your laughter, the way you supported his dreams, the comfort of your presence — kept replaying in his mind.
one evening, ni-ki sat in his practice room, staring at his phone. his fingers hovered over the screen before he finally typed out a message: “can we meet? i need to tell you something important.”
when you agreed, ni-ki met you at a quiet spot near the dance studio. he looked nervous but determined. “i messed up,” he began, his voice low. “i thought breaking up was the right thing to do… but it wasn’t. it was the worst mistake i’ve ever made.”
he looked at you, his eyes earnest. “i thought i needed to figure out my feelings, but the truth is, i was scared. scared of how much i care about you. but now i know… you’re the one i want.”
ni-ki’s efforts to win you back were both heartfelt and creative. he’d dedicate his dance routines to you, recording them and sending you clips with messages like, “this is for you. always for you.” he’d leave small gifts with notes that said, “i’m sorry. let me make it right.”
“i’m young, and i’ve made mistakes,” he admitted one evening, his voice steady. “but i’m learning, and one thing i know for sure is that i don’t want to lose you again.”
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notes: thank you for requesting! i guess i’ve been traumatizing yall with too much angst xp fluff coming soon!
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moonlightwritingf1 · 17 hours ago
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To New Beginnings | LN4
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ᥫ᭡ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/n and Lando share a passionate kiss on New Year’s Eve, leading to an intimate connection. Despite her hesitations, Y/n gives in to the growing attraction between them.
ᥫ᭡ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader
ᥫ᭡ word count ━━━━━━━ 6.1k
ᥫ᭡ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content
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The New Year’s Eve party was in full swing, the air thick with laughter, clinking glasses, and the bass-heavy thrum of music. Y/n stood just inside the doorway, her fingers nervously brushing over the delicate fabric of her dress. It was black, long, and clung to her curves in a way that made her feel both powerful and exposed. The neckline dipped low, revealing just enough to be daring without crossing into vulgarity. She had debated wearing it for hours, but now, standing here, she was glad she’d taken the risk.
This is it, she thought, taking a deep breath. Tonight, I let myself exist. Just for tonight.
She scanned the room, her eyes landing on familiar faces—friends from work, acquaintances from London’s social scene. But before she could fully settle into the space, her gaze locked onto someone else entirely. Lando.
He was across the room, leaning casually against the bar, a glass of champagne in hand. His dark hair was slightly messy, his tailored suit hugging his frame perfectly. Even from this distance, she could see the way his eyes lit up when he noticed her. He straightened, setting his glass down, and began making his way toward her.
Her heart skipped a beat. Why does he always look at me like that?
“Y/n,” he said as he approached, his voice smooth and warm, with just a hint of that teasing edge she’d come to expect from him. “You’re here.”
She forced herself to smile, though her cheeks were already flushing. “I am. It’s a party, after all.”
“Yes, but you’re here,” he emphasized, his eyes raking over her in a way that made her skin tingle. “And in that dress? You’re going to make it impossible for anyone else to get my attention tonight.”
She rolled her eyes, trying to play off the compliment. “Oh, please. You’ll forget about me the moment someone hands you another drink.”
He stepped closer, his hand brushing against her waist as if by accident. Was it an accident? She couldn’t tell. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he murmured, his voice lowering just enough that she had to lean in slightly to hear him. “Not when you’re standing there looking like… that.”
Y/n glanced away, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Only around you,” he said with a grin, his fingers lingering on her hip now, sending a shiver down her spine. “Come on, let’s get you a drink. You look like you need one.”
Before she could protest, he was guiding her toward the bar, his hand still firmly on her waist. She could feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of her dress, and it was distracting in a way she hadn’t anticipated. As they walked, she noticed the way people turned to watch them, their curious glances flickering between her and Lando. Do they think we’re together? The thought sent a strange mix of panic and something else—something warmer—through her chest.
At the bar, Lando ordered her a glass of wine, his arm brushing against hers as he leaned in to speak to the bartender. When he handed her the glass, his fingers lingered against hers for a moment too long. “To new beginnings,” he said, raising his own glass in a toast.
She clinked her glass against his, trying to ignore the way his eyes seemed to pierce right through her. “Cheers.”
They sipped their drinks in silence for a moment, the noise of the party swirling around them. But Lando didn’t seem interested in letting the conversation die. “So,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he studied her. “Why did it take so long for you to show up? I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“I wasn’t sure if I would,” she admitted, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger. “But… I figured, why not? It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“And I’m glad you did,” he said, his voice softening. “Because now I get to spend the night with the most beautiful woman in the room.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re so full of it.”
“Am I?” he asked, stepping closer again, his free hand resting lightly on her hip. “Or are you just refusing to believe me?”
Her breath hitched slightly at the intensity in his gaze. “Maybe both.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Fair enough. But I’m not going to stop telling you until you believe me.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the music shifted to a slower tempo, and Lando’s expression changed. There was a glint in his eye now, something playful and mischievous. “Dance with me,” he said, offering her his hand.
“What? No,” she protested, shaking her head. “I don’t dance.”
“Everyone dances on New Year’s Eve,” he countered, his fingers wrapping around hers before she could pull away. “Come on, Y/n. Live a little.”
She hesitated, glancing around the room. But something in the way he was looking at her—like she was the only person in the world—made her nod. Just one dance, she told herself. What’s the harm?
As he led her to the center of the room, his hand moved to her waist, pulling her close. She placed her free hand on his shoulder, feeling the firm muscle beneath his suit jacket. They began to sway to the music, and she was acutely aware of every point of contact between them—the warmth of his hand on her back, the press of his chest against hers, the way his breath brushed against her cheek.
“See?” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”
“I suppose not,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
He chuckled softly, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Good. Because I’ve been waiting months for this.”
Her heart raced at his words, but before she could respond, he spun her gently, pulling her even closer this time. Their bodies were flush now, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart against hers. When the song ended, neither of them moved. Instead, they stood there, locked in each other’s embrace, the rest of the party fading into the background.
“Y/n,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “There’s something I need to—”
But before he could finish, the countdown to midnight began. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Y/n felt a surge of adrenaline. 10… 9… 8…
Lando’s eyes never left hers as the numbers ticked down. 7… 6… 5…
His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently against her skin. 4… 3… 2…
“Happy New Year,” he murmured, his lips hovering just inches from hers.
The clock struck midnight, and the room exploded into celebration. But Y/n barely noticed. All she could focus on was the way Lando was looking at her, the way his breath mingled with hers, the way his body pressed against her own.
“Happy New Year,” she whispered back, her heart pounding in her chest.
And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was soft and tentative at first, but quickly deepened into something more—something filled with longing and passion and all the unspoken things between them. Her hands slid up to cup his face, and she kissed him back with everything she had, finally letting herself give in to the feelings she’d been fighting for so long.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths uneven. “Y/n,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I—”
Lando’s breath was still uneven, his forehead pressed against hers as if he couldn’t bear to pull away completely. His hands moved from her shoulders to her waist, fingers curling possessively into the soft fabric of her dress. “Y/n,” he murmured again, his voice low and rough with emotion. He didn’t finish whatever he had been about to say. Instead, he tilted his head, capturing her lips in another kiss—this one deeper, hungrier, more insistent.
Her hands slid up his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath her palms. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her body responding instinctively to his touch. When he finally pulled away, she was breathless, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly swollen.
“You…” he began, but trailed off, his eyes searching hers for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it, because a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, his lips were on hers again, his hands roaming over her body as if he needed to memorize every curve. His fingers trailed down her sides, brushing the hem of her dress before sliding underneath to trace patterns on her bare skin. She shivered at the sensation, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
“Cold?” he teased, his voice warm against her ear. She shook her head, unable to form words as his hands continued their exploration. He pressed kisses along her jawline, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear that made her knees go weak. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself as she felt her resolve beginning to crumble.
“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. But instead of stopping, he only intensified his efforts, his lips moving lower to trail kisses down her neck. His hands tightened around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space between them.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and sending shivers down her spine. “I can’t stop looking at you. Can’t stop touching you.” His hands slid lower, resting on her hips for a moment before one dipped lower, brushing the curve of her ass. She froze, her breath catching in her throat.
“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with both desire and concern. She nodded, barely trusting herself to speak. The feel of his hand on her ass sent a jolt of electricity through her body, igniting something deep within her. He squeezed gently, testing her reaction, and when a small moan escaped her lips, he grinned against her skin.
“God, I love the sounds you make,” he whispered, his voice rougher now, filled with an intensity that made her heart race. His hand explored further, gripping her ass firmly this time, and another moan slipped past her lips before she could stop it. The sound seemed to embolden him, and he pressed another searing kiss to her lips.
“You’re perfect,” he breathed between kisses. “Everything about you… perfect.” His lips moved lower, trailing kisses across her collarbone and down to the edge of her dress. The neckline was low, exposing just enough skin to drive him wild, and he wasted no time in pressing his lips to the soft swell of her chest.
Y/n’s breath hitched, her fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed her there, each press of his lips sending waves of heat through her body. She could feel the tension building, coiling tight in her core, and she knew she was losing control. But for the first time, she didn’t care. She wanted this—wanted him—more than anything.
His tongue flicked out, teasing her skin, and she let out another soft moan, her body arching towards him involuntarily. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against her skin, and she felt a surge of confidence at the way he reacted to her.
“You like that?” he asked, his voice muffled against her chest. She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. He kissed her again, his lips lingering longer this time, before lifting his head to look at her. His eyes were filled with desire, and she could see the same need reflected in them that she felt burning inside her.
Lando’s lips moved to her ear, his breath warm and teasing. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down her spine. His hands traced the curve of her waist, their bodies were pressed together, the heat between them almost unbearable. Y/n could feel the hard outline of his desire against her, and it made her pulse quicken.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he continued, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Wanted you. Every time I see you, it’s all I can think about. How beautiful you are. How much I need to touch you, to taste you.” He kissed her neck softly, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp.
Y/n’s hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. She was losing herself in him, in the way he spoke, in the way he touched her. It was overwhelming, but she didn’t want it to stop. “Lando…” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. His gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of adoration and hunger. “Tell me what you want,” he said again, his voice soft but commanding. “Tell me, and it’s yours.”
She hesitated for a moment, her heart racing. But then she leaned in, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “I want you. All of you.”
A slow, satisfied smile spread across Lando’s face, and he cupped her cheek in his hand. “You have me,” he murmured before capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue slid against hers, exploring every inch of her mouth as if he was memorizing her. His hands roamed her body, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched.
The party faded into the background, the music and laughter becoming nothing more than a distant hum. All that mattered was the two of them, the way they fit together, the way their bodies moved in sync. Lando’s hands slipped lower, gripping her hips as he pulled her even closer, his hardness pressing against her stomach.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily. Lando rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment. “Come home with me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the noise of the party.
Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. She knew what he was asking, knew where this would lead. And yet, there was no hesitation in her answer. “Yes,” she said simply, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.
Lando’s smile was radiant, and he took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. They slipped out of the party unnoticed, the cool night air hitting them as they stepped outside. Lando led her to his car, opening the door for her with a gentlemanly charm that made her smile.
The drive to his apartment was quiet, the tension between them palpable. Y/n could feel Lando’s eyes on her every now and then, his gaze burning with desire. She kept her eyes on the road, her mind racing with anticipation. What would happen when they got there? Would she be able to handle the intensity of his feelings? The depth of her own?
When they finally arrived, Lando parked the car and turned to her, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice soft but serious.
Y/n met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. “I’m sure,” she said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her.
Lando smiled, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Good,” he murmured before leaning in to kiss her gently. Then he got out of the car and came around to open her door, taking her hand in his as they walked to the elevator.
The ride up to his apartment seemed to take forever, the silence between them filled with unspoken words and promises. When the doors finally opened, Lando led her down the hallway to his door, unlocking it and stepping aside to let her in.
His apartment was modern and sleek, just like she had imagined. But she didn’t have time to take it all in before Lando’s arms were around her, his lips crashing down on hers in a kiss that left her breathless. She responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.
Lando’s hands moved to the zipper of her dress, slowly pulling it down as he kissed her neck, his lips trailing hot kisses along her skin. The dress fell to the floor, pooling at her feet, leaving her standing in nothing but her black lace underwear. Lando’s eyes darkened as he took her in, his gaze roaming over her body with undisguised hunger.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip before moving up to cup her breast. Her breath hitched as his thumb brushed over her nipple, sending sparks of pleasure through her.
He leaned down, his lips closing over her other nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. Y/n moaned softly, her hands gripping his shoulders as waves of pleasure washed over her. Lando alternated between sucking and licking, his hands exploring every inch of her body as if he couldn’t get enough of her.
“Lando…” she gasped, her head falling back as his mouth moved lower, kissing a trail down her stomach. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he knelt in front of her, his eyes filled with longing.
“I want to taste every part of you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.
Lando’s breath hitched as he pulled Y/n's panties down, his eyes widening at the sight before him. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with hunger. She was soaking wet, her arousal glistening in the dim light of the room. Her pussy was flushed and dripping, and Lando felt like he might lose his mind just looking at her.
He glanced up at her, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. “Is this because of me?” he teased, his fingers lightly brushing over her slick folds. Y/n let out a sharp gasp, her hips arching toward his touch involuntarily. Lando chuckled darkly, his thumb circling her clit slowly, deliberately. “You love playing hard to get, but in reality, you’re desperate for me as much as I am for you, baby.”
Y/n’s cheeks flushed, but she couldn’t deny the truth in his words. Her body betrayed her, trembling under his touch, her core aching for more. “Lando…” she whispered, her voice breathless and pleading.
“Tell me,” he demanded, his fingers still teasing her, just barely touching where she needed him most. “Tell me how much you want me.”
She bit her lip, trying to hold back the whimper that threatened to escape. “I… I want you,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “So much.”
Lando’s grin widened, and he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her inner thigh. “Good girl,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. His mouth moved closer to her center, and Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. She could feel his tongue flicking lightly against her, tasting her, savoring her.
“God, you’re delicious,” he groaned, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her spread open for him. He licked a long stripe up her slit, and Y/n moaned loudly, her hands flying to grip the sheets beneath her. “Lando!”
He didn’t hesitate, diving in with an intensity that left her gasping. His tongue swirled around her clit, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, harder. Y/n’s back arched off the bed, her legs trembling uncontrollably. “Oh my God…” she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his hair.
Lando hummed against her, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and Y/n cried out, her hips bucking against his face. “Yes, yes, yes!” she chanted, her entire body coiled tight with tension.
He continued to devour her, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony, driving her closer and closer to the edge. Y/n’s moans grew louder, more desperate, her body writhing beneath him. “Please, Lando, please!” she begged, her nails digging into his scalp.
“Come for me, baby,” he urged, his voice rough with desire. “Let go. I want to feel you come undone.”
And she did. The orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she screamed his name. Lando didn’t let up, licking and sucking her through it until she was a trembling, boneless mess beneath him.
When he finally pulled away, Y/n was gasping for air, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Lando wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes hungry as he looked down at her. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he said, his voice low and husky.
Y/n blushed, still reeling from the intensity of her climax. “Lando… that was…” she trailed off, unable to find the words.
He grinned, crawling up her body to hover over her. “Just wait,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers. “We’re just getting started.”
His kiss was deep and searing, and Y/n could taste herself on his tongue. It should have been strange, but instead, it only fueled her desire. Her hands roamed over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath her fingertips. She wanted him—all of him.
Lando broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto hers. “I need you, Y/n,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “Not just your body. All of you.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she nodded, her eyes welling with tears. “I need you too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Then let me show you how much you mean to me,” he said, his hand sliding down to grip his cock, positioning himself at her entrance.
Y/n’s breath hitched as she felt the tip of him pressing against her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Please,” she begged, her body already craving him.
Lando hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching hers. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice gentle.
She nodded, her hands moving to cup his face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she whispered.
With that, Lando pushed into her slowly, inch by inch, giving her time to adjust to his size. Y/n’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan escaping her lips as she felt him fill her completely. “You’re so tight,” he groaned, his forehead resting against hers.
They stayed like that for a moment, both of them breathing heavily, savoring the connection between them. Then Lando began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending waves of pleasure coursing through Y/n’s body.
“God, you feel amazing,” he whispered, his hands gripping her hips as he picked up the pace. Y/n’s moans grew louder, her nails digging into his back as she urged him on.
Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other. Y/n could feel another orgasm building, stronger than the last, and she clung to Lando, her cries of pleasure filling the room.
“Come with me, baby,” Lando growled, his thrusts becoming more frantic. Y/n nodded, her body tightening around him as she tumbled over the edge once again. Lando followed soon after, his release spilling into her as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.
For a moment, they stayed like that, their hearts racing, their bodies still intertwined. Then Lando pulled out, collapsing beside her and pulling her into his arms.
“That was…” Y/n began, but Lando cut her off with a kiss.
“Perfect,” he finished, his fingers tracing patterns on her bare skin. “You’re perfect.”
Y/n smiled, snuggling closer to him. “So are you,” she whispered, her eyes closing as exhaustion began to take over. She could feel Lando’s arms tighten around her, and for the first time in a long time, she felt safe, cherished, loved.
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of their breathing, tangled together in the aftermath of passion. Lando’s fingers trailed lazily up and down Y/n’s arm, his touch leaving a trail of warmth that made her shiver. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, her own still fluttering from what had just transpired between them.
“You okay?” Lando murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a ripple of heat through her. His hand paused on her shoulder, fingertips brushing against her skin as if he couldn’t stop touching her.
Y/n tilted her head to look at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “More than okay,” she admitted, her voice soft but sure. “That was… incredible.”
Lando grinned, the kind of grin that made her stomach tighten in the most delicious way. “Good,” he said simply, because what else was there to say? His fingers resumed their slow exploration, tracing circles over her shoulder now, the touch tender, almost reverent. “Because I plan on making it even better next time.”
She laughed, a light, breathy sound that made his chest swell with pride. “Confident, are we?”
“With you?” Lando leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Always.” The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down her spine, and she instinctively pressed closer to him, craving more of his touch, more of him.
They fell into a comfortable silence again, the weight of what had just happened settling over them. It wasn’t just the physical connection—though that had been earth-shattering—it was the emotional one too. Y/n could feel it, this undeniable pull toward him, something deeper than attraction, something that scared her a little but also filled her with a strange sense of peace.
Lando broke the silence first, his voice softer now, more serious. “Hey,” he started, his fingers stilling on her back. “Can I ask you something?”
Y/n shifted slightly so she could meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, intense, and they held hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. “Of course,” she replied, her voice a little steadier than she felt.
He hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “Why did you keep pushing me away?” he asked finally, his tone gentle, not accusing. “All those months, all those gifts… I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “I guess I just want to understand why it took so long for you to let me in.”
Y/n exhaled slowly, her mind racing. She hadn’t expected this. Not now, not after everything they’d just shared. But she owed him honesty, didn’t she? They were past the point of pretenses.
“I was scared,” she admitted quietly, her eyes dropping to where her fingers fiddled with the edge of the sheet. “Scared of getting hurt, scared of… of not being enough for someone like you.”
Lando frowned, his hand lifting to cup her cheek, forcing her to look at him again. “Y/n,” he said her name with such tenderness it nearly stole her breath. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything. Don’t you see that?”
Her throat tightened, emotions swirling inside her like a storm she couldn’t control. “It’s not just that,” she continued, her voice trembling now. “Your life… it’s so different from mine. You’re this famous, successful man, and I’m just… ordinary. And your past—all those women—it made me think maybe I was just another conquest to you.”
Lando’s expression softened, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “You’re not ordinary,” he said firmly. “And my past… yeah, I’ve made mistakes. But none of them meant anything. Not like this. Not like you.” He paused, his gaze searching hers. “Do you believe me?”
Y/n nodded, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I do,” she whispered. “I just… I needed to know you were serious about me. That this wasn’t just some fling for you.”
“It’s not,” Lando assured her, his voice steady, unwavering. “I’ve never been more serious about anyone in my life. And I want this—us—to be real.”
She blinked, surprised by the raw sincerity in his words. “You really mean that?”
“Every word,” he replied without hesitation. “And I want to prove it to you. Properly. Will you go on a date with me? A real one, no pressure, just… you and me.”
Y/n felt a smile tug at her lips, despite the tears still threatening to fall. “A date, huh?” she teased, her voice lightening as she wiped at her eyes. “What, flowers and dinner and all that?”
Lando chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “If that’s what you want, then yes. But honestly, I’d take you anywhere, as long as it means I get to spend time with you.”
She pretended to consider it, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm… tempting. Very tempting.”
His grin widened, his hand slipping around her waist to pull her closer. “Is that a yes?” he asked, his tone hopeful, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Y/n feigned reluctance, though her heart was already racing at the thought. “I don’t know… you’ll have to convince me.”
Lando’s laughter filled the room, and before she could react, he rolled her beneath him, his body pressing hers into the mattress. “Oh, I’ll convince you, alright,” he murmured, his lips grazing her neck in a way that made her gasp. “Starting right now.”
She giggled, squirming beneath him, though her hands found their way to his shoulders, holding him close. “You’re insatiable,” she accused, though there was no real bite to her words.
“Only for you,” he replied, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was both tender and possessive, leaving her breathless when he finally pulled away. “So? Date night?”
Y/n sighed, pretending to weigh her options, though she knew her answer already. “Fine,” she said with mock exasperation. “But only if you promise to behave yourself.”
Lando smirked, his hand sliding down her side in a way that made her shiver. “No promises,” he quipped, leaning in to kiss her again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.
When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his breathing uneven. “Thank you,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice making her chest ache. “For giving me a chance.”
Y/n reached up to brush a strand of hair from his face, her heart swelling with emotion. “Thank you,” she replied softly. “For not giving up on me.”
They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten. Then Lando cleared his throat, his lips quirking into a playful smirk. “So… since we’re officially dating now…”
She raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was going. “Yes?”
Lando’s grin turned downright wicked. “Does that mean I can tell everyone you’re my girlfriend? Because, let me tell you, I’ve been dying to show you off.”
Y/n felt her cheeks flush, but she couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he conceded, leaning in to nip at her bottom lip. “But I’m yours. All yours.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and before she could respond, he captured her lips in another searing kiss, one that left no doubt in her mind that he meant every word.
Lando’s lips lingered on hers, soft and sweet, before he pulled back just enough to whisper against her mouth. ”You know, I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. For you.” His voice was low, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down Y/n’s spine.
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. ”Oh? And how many other girls have you said that to?” Her tone was teasing, but there was a hint of vulnerability beneath it, a question she hadn’t meant to ask but couldn’t hold back.
Lando’s expression softened, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. ”None,” he said firmly, his gaze locked onto hers. ”Because none of them were you. None of them ever could be.”
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. He was too much—too intense, too raw, too honest. It made her want to retreat, to shield herself from the way his words seemed to reach into her chest and wrap around her heart. But at the same time, she wanted to lean into it, to let herself feel everything he was offering.
Instead, she smirked, leaning back slightly. ”Careful, Lando. That almost sounded like a love confession.”
He blinked, then laughed, shaking his head. ”What if it was?”
Y/n froze, her playful demeanor faltering. ”What?”
His laughter faded, replaced by something far more serious. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as his eyes searched hers. ”I said, what if it was? What if I told you I’m in love with you? Because I am. Completely, ridiculously, stupidly in love with you.”
The room seemed to tilt, her stomach doing somersaults as his words sank in. She stared at him, her mind racing. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not yet. Not like this. She wasn’t ready for this kind of honesty, this kind of intensity. But as she looked into his eyes, she realized she didn’t have a choice. He’d already laid himself bare, and now it was her turn.
Still, old habits died hard, and she couldn’t resist falling back on her usual defense mechanism: teasing. ”In love with me?Really? After only one night together? That doesn’t sound very self-controlled of you.”
Lando groaned, dropping his forehead against hers. ”’Y/n… You’re killing me here.”
She grinned, feeling a little more in control now that she’d thrown him off balance. ”Am I? Because it seems like you’re the one who’s being all dramatic. ‘Completely, ridiculously, stupidly in love’? That’s quite the declaration.”
He lifted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, though there was no real annoyance in his expression. ”You’re really going to tease me about this?”_
”Maybe,” she said with a shrug, her grin widening. ”Or maybe I just don’t believe you.”
That got a reaction. Lando’s hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies were pressed together. ”You don’t believe me?” he repeated, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. ”Then let me prove it to you.”
Before she could respond, his lips crashed onto hers, cutting off any retort she might have had. It wasn’t a gentle kiss—it was desperate, hungry, full of all the emotions he’d just confessed. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her in a way that left no room for doubt. She moaned softly, her hands gripping his shoulders as she kissed him back, her teasing forgotten in the heat of the moment.
When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing heavily. ”Now do you believe me?” he asked, his voice rough.
She bit her lip, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ”Maybe,” she said again, though her tone was softer this time. ”But I think you might need to try harder to convince me.”
Lando groaned again, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes. ”You’re impossible, you know that?”
”And yet here you are, declaring your undying love for me,” she shot back, her grin returning.
He shook his head, but he was smiling too. ”Yeah, well, I guess I’m a masochist.”
Y/n laughed, the sound light and carefree, and Lando’s heart swelled at the sight of her happiness. He’d do anything to keep that smile on her face, even if it meant putting up with her endless teasing.
They spent the next hour talking, laughing, and stealing kisses, neither of them willing to let the other go. Eventually, though, exhaustion began to creep in, and Y/n found herself stifling a yawn.
”Tired?” Lando asked, his fingers gently carding through her hair.
”A little,” she admitted, leaning into his touch.
”Come on, let’s get some rest,” he said, standing up and holding out his hand to her.
She hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, letting him lead her to the bedroom. They settled under the covers together, Lando wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. ”Goodnight, Y/n,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.
”Goodnight, Lando,” she murmured back, her eyelids already drooping.
As she drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, she couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, she was starting to believe him after all.
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voxslays · 2 days ago
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Hi! I really hope you read this but I had a specific request where y/n wants to play games on Vox’s screen like block blast or something and it takes a bit, but they convince him and likes, they’re in his office and they’re on his lap trying to get a high score like “stay still, I’m trying to get a high score!”
I hope it doesn’t sound too weird and you could decide on this but could it be mostly fluff but a bit suggestive? Thank you! Also don’t do this request if it’s too much, I really like your writing and wouldn’t want you to overwork yourself.
Have a nice day :)
A/N: Thank you for your request, Anonnie. I hope dress to impress is okay. I don’t know very much about block blast except for the fact that it’s a block game lol- I hope you have a nice day aswell! <3
DRESS TO IMPRESS
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“C’mon Vox!” You begged, as you bombarded the already overwhelmed overlord with your strange request. He looked up from his mountain of paperwork, his eyes filled with irritation as he glared at you. "I am not letting you play games on my screen." He says harshly, the blue light from his screen flickering and shuddering. “Please…?” You plead, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.
Sighing heavily, Vox rubs his nonexistent temples (the sides of his screen) as if trying to physically push away the looming headache. "Fine. Five minutes." He relents gruffly, sliding his chair sideways to grant you access to the hulking, imposing console. “YES!” You pump your fist in the air enthusiastically. Vox watches you with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity as you eagerly plug his ports in and start up your game, crawling into his lap and straddling the overlord.
Suddenly, instead of his usual facial features that are displayed on his flatscreen TV head, is the game of your choice—dress to impress. His flatscreen TV head now displays the colorful, lobby of the game. "You have four minutes left," You quickly begin dressing up your avatar, the game in progress only having two minutes left. Time passes quickly, but luckily your avatar is almost completely done. You can feel Vox shifting below you—and it startles you. For a moment, you had completely forgotten you were straddling the TV overlord! “Sit still!” He groans in annoyance below you.
He tries to sit still, his large, flatscreen body rumbling slightly as he suppresses the urge to shift and knock you off. His eyes, now the glowing cursors on the screen, stare impatiently at the timer. "One minute," he warns gruffly. The runway portion of the round begins. You give out a few stars to some of your favorite outfits, before it’s your turn. You spam pose 28 as your avatar fashionably walks down the pink and white runway.
Vox’s screen flickers slightly as you spam the poses, showing the vibrant runway show. Unexpectedly, a small spark of interest lights up his digital eyes as he watches the graceful movements of your avatar. "Thirty seconds…" He mutters, though his voice isn't as harsh as before. When the results are revealed, your avatar wins second place!
You are about to type a simple ‘Ty’ in the chat, before Vox’s screen goes completely blue. The screen goes dark, and the room falls silent. For a moment, you're left sitting there, wondering what happened. Then, the screen flickers back to life, but it's not the game anymore. Instead, its his handsome flatscreen face.
“Thanks Vox.” You say as you gracefully climb out of his lap. Once completely standing, you smooth out your clothes. He blinks slowly, his expression unreadable as he stares up at you. For a long moment, he's silent. Then, he speaks, his voice slightly softer than before. "You're welcome." He pauses, then asks curiously, "You play that often?"
“Very often.” You giggle. He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There's a strange glint in his digital gaze, something almost…appreciative? "I can see why." He murmurs, before adding gruffly, "Don't tell anyone I let you play on my screen." You let out a soft laugh. “I won’t, glitch-boy.” You tease, before walking out of his cold monitor room and out of sight. As you leave, he's left alone with his thoughts. He blinks slowly, his screen flickering slightly as he processes the unusual interaction. A small, rare smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Glitch-boy…" He murmurs to himself, almost fondly.
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hannie-dul-set · 12 hours ago
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나비 / NABI — THREE.
SYNOPSIS. in which you’re trying your damned best to willfully ignore your feelings for your friend of over twenty years, but— as always— life seems to have a different plan paved out for you.
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PAIRING. choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment) to lovers, romance, humor, hurt/comfort but more on comfort, coming of age, slowburn, college! au, “it’s always been you” trope, pining, tons of denial, somehow also a christmas and new year’s au, beomgyu is the only man ever, featuring a large ensemble of idols from various groups. WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, rumors as a plot device, bullying, alcohol consumption, cheesy shit, a few makeout scenes WAHAHHAHA. WORD COUNT. 28k (out of 49k).
NOTE. whoa.....HAHHAHAHA. this was long overdue, so i saved up my yapping for the afterword. anyhow, here it finally is 😭😭😭 my blood, sweat, and tears. mostly tears. enjoy. please let me know what you think, and happy new year to all!
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모기 / MOGI — ONE — TWO — THREE
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#3: YOU STILL DON’T LIKE HOW MUCH OF YOUR IDENTITY HE’S STRIPPED AWAY. Your title has changed from Choi Beomgyu’s girlfriend to Choi Beomgyu’s cheating girlfriend. Such an upgrade. It’s like you have a sign with that title label hovering and pointing to your head every time you pass through a decently crowded hallway, or enter an occupied area. Like Horangnabi, for example. You’re minding your own business, sipping on your iced mocha, and the people on the next table keep snagging glances at you.
Julie shows up with a loud cough, practically slamming your cinnamon waffle onto the table. The group snaps their eyes off of you and jumps into a sudden conversation. Julie rolls her eyes. “If I hear anyone talking crap, I’m kicking them out of the shop.”
“Are you even allowed to do that?” You’re pretty sure the cafe belongs to the school. And Julie seonbae is still a student here. 
“No one’s ever here to supervise. This is my store now,” is her logical response. She takes a seat in front of you. You’re also pretty sure she’s still on duty. “Anyway, how was your break, pretty? Did you get some rest?”
Last week was the rest week after midterms, so you were able to spend the last six days at home in Daegu. Beomgyu wasn’t able to join you because he and the coding club— and this was hard to believe at first— had decided to join a game development contest hosted by TXT Inc. Shocker, you know. You couldn’t believe your ears after hearing the news from Beomgyu. 
But he crushes your feeling of pride just as quickly as he triggered it. They’re not doing this entirely out of passion and willingness, he said. The extracurriculars office threatened to shut down their club if they fail to show any tangible results before the end of the semester. 
Well, you guess if there’s anything that can get a bunch of boys to actually start properly operating their club, a dissolution threat will work wonders. They scrambled to find something they could do— a proposal to improve the MIS, events, anything. Fortunately for them, the TXT Inc. competition advertisement showed up on Yeonjun’s feed right when they needed it. Unfortunately, the deadline for the contest is mid-December. It’s now the last week of October. They’ve got like two months to cram an entire game from scratch, so for the entirety of the one-week break, they’ve been in a self-imposed isolation in the clubroom. To say that they’re on a tight schedule is an understatement. 
Which is why you’re at Horangnabi right now. To buy a fuckload of coffee for those poor, sleep-deprived chumps. Another barista walks up to your table with a dozen cups of coffee, halved into two takeout containers, and you bid Julie farewell before heading out to make your way to the clubroom.
It’s concerning how they haven’t even locked the door. It’s even more concerning how you’re met with pitch darkness the moment you swing the door open— save for the singular glow of one computer screen on the opposite end of the room.
You flick the lightswitch on. Groans erupt. It’s like you’ve just revived the dead.
“Turn off the sun,” you hear Heeseung groan from below. He’s laid on the worn out couch by the door, shifting around underneath a blanket. Looking around, you see the other corpses strewn about. “Turn it off.”
“What a mess.” Navigating through the sleeping bags on the floor (sleeping bodies included), you notice that it’s littered with a distressing amount of plastic bottles and takeout boxes. You grimace. “I got you guys coffee. Come and get it.”
The first person to be revived is Yeonjun. The sound of the containers set on the table stir him up from the couch, next to Heeseung, and he stumbles over to you, finishing out an americano from the box. “Thanks,” he drawls out, patting you on the head before making a turn towards the door. “Ugh. I need to wash my face.”
“You go do that,” you say. “Everyone, come get your coffee then get out. This place is a biohazard. Go out and get some sunlight while I clean up.”
If they keep working in this environment, you’re pretty sure one or seven of them are gonna catch a disease. After a few more moments of coaxing and physical threats, most of them eventually evacuate from the clubroom. You had to physically kick Heeseung out before locking the door. The only one left is a certain Choi Beomgyu, still curled up on a chair against the half-wall. He’s stuck behind the table, one remaining cup of coffee left behind for him. Poor guy. He looks like absolute shit. You decide to pick up the crap on the floor first before kicking him out.
To get some more light in this damned cave, you pull open the curtains and turn on the lights in the back. Copious amounts of rustling and two full trash bags later, Beomgyu is still knocked out. You’re not surprised. He sleeps like a corpse.
You set the bag aside against the door, spraying some sanitizer into your hands before walking up to him, quietly wedging yourself behind the table because he’s still got his headphones glued to his ears. That can’t be healthy. You try to remove it from his head, sitting down on the chair next to him, carefully placing your hands on the sides of his face, but this stirs him awake.
Beomgyu grumbles and shifts in his seat. And then you hear him mumble out your name with a question mark at the end. “Morning, idiot,” you say, retracting your hands. “I got you coffee.”
“It’s...it’s morning?” he groans, barely coherent.
“It’s five past nine,” you tell him. “What time did you sleep?”
“I don’t know,” he grunts, pulling up his legs to the chair and scrunching himself up even more with a yawn. “I just decided to nap when my eyes couldn’t distinguish the ones from the zeroes anymore.”
You laugh. “Get some more rest,” you say, getting up from the chair. “I’ll close the curtains, hold on—”
“No, it’s fine.” You’re tugged back onto your seat, and you feel Beomgyu drop his head onto your shoulder. “I’m gonna—” he releases another yawn. “I need’ta get up in a bit anyway.”
A breath slips past your lips. His head is so god damned heavy and you struggle to squirm into a comfortable enough position, all while trying to make sure you’re not moving too much to keep his head steady on your abused shoulder. While you’re doing that, you hear a knock from the other side of the clubroom door. Which is weird, because none of those fuckers knock at all. They tend to just barge in whenever they want.
Beomgyu recognizes this anomaly as well. He jolts up, relieving you from his weight. “Ah, shit,” he remarks, and— for some reason— starts...crawling underneath the table? “Can you answer the door? If someone’s looking for me, tell them I’m not here.”
You’re more than a little confused. Beomgyu’s face wrinkles into a grunt when another round of door knocks echo into the space, and he ducks further under the table, shielded from whoever the hell is on the other side of the door in case they walk in. Despite not receiving any answers on an explanation, you do as he says. Opening the door, you’re immediately slapped in the face by a loud, over enthusiastic voice that you don’t recognize.
“Choi Beomgyu, you can’t keep running from us anym—”
The guy cuts himself off, eyes wide at the recognition that you are not his person of interest. You don’t recognize him, but he seems to recognize you, confirmed by how he coughs up your name with so much weariness that it almost feels like he’s wronged you somehow.
“Yes?” you say, brow raised. He gulps. Who is this man, how does he know you, and why is he scared of you?
“Oh, uh— Yeonjun told us Beomgyu would be here…?”
“He’s not,” you reply, crossing your arms and tilting your body to the doorframe, just to give your friend some extra coverage. “But I can send the message. What do you want from him?”
You’re very aware of the amount of attitude you’re expelling right now. “W—well, you know the autumn festival is next month, right?”
“Get to the point.”
He flinches out a nod. “I, uh, I came here to try and convince your boyfriend to join the Battle of the Bands competition for the festival. The ICT department still needs some vacant slots to fill, so...do you think...you can maybe…?”
Ah. Right. There’s that thing. The festival. Your seniors have been sending messages in the group chat about it and Heeseung did mention that off-handedly at one point. They scouted him for your department’s band, too, but he’s still on the fence about it because of the competition deadline they’re trying to catch. That doesn’t answer why Choi Beomgyu is currently hiding under the table though. “Who are you again?” you ask in an attempt to get some hints. This question sends the guy frozen and standing perfectly upright.
“S—sorry, I’m Choi Soobin,” he introduces. “I’m Beomgyu’s senior from the department.”
Your face stiffens. Well, god damn, you’ve just been totally rude to a senior. You clear your throat, brushing your embarrassment aside by inhaling a sharp breath. “I’ll see what I can do,” you simply say before shutting the door. Once the lock clicks, you immediately taunt Beomgyu out of his hiding spot. “You piece of shit, you could’ve at least told me I needed to be respectful!”
“Wow. You’re so brave for talking to someone older than you like that.” He snickers, shuffling out from under the table before grinning at you, now standing at full height. “Your temper has mellowed out lately. I forgot that you’re inherently Satan’s underling whose default setting is to be mean and cranky.”
“Shut it,” you roll your eyes, moving back over to the door to take a peek if Choi Soobin had already left the premises. He has. The hallway is more or less empty. You turn your head back, looking over your shoulder at Beomgyu, who has his hands in his pockets, face scrunched in a yawn. You can’t help but notice the bags underneath his eyes, the gaunt paleness of his skin. A sinking feeling hits you. “C’mon. All your clubmates have left. Let’s get you photosynthesized, fuckface.”
The both of you trek the relatively barren path from the ICT building to the courtyard, planning to circle all the way back because god knows when was the last time this guy had been able to do some exercise. Pace slow, you cock your head to eye Beomgyu. He’s silently sipping on the coffee you got him, the mid-autumn leaves crunching underneath the soles of his feet as more cascade down from the trees lining your path. When your gaze shifts up, Choi Beomgyu still looks as tired as ever underneath the sun. You frown, biting on the straw of your own drink. 
“Why didn’t you want to join the band thing, by the way? You usually say yes to these things.”
Beomgyu looks over at you. “What do you mean?”
“You know,” you start. “Last sem’s E-Sports Fest. The conference thing. Not to mention all throughout highschool, you’d never miss the opportunity to be the center of attention. I’m just a little surprised.”
He lets out a hum. “Well, my priorities have changed.” Beomgyu reaches out for the top of your head with his free hand, plucking out a stray orange leaf from one of the trees above before flicking it away. “I’m already busy with the game dev contest as is. I’d rather focus my time on the important things.”
“Wow. So mature. I’m gonna tell your mom her son is all grown up.” All he does is roll his eyes at you. You laugh.
Despite that conviction of his, however, Choi Beomgyu is pretty quick to change his mind.
The next day, you’re back at the clubroom again with another set of coffee orders. It looks a lot more livable than yesterday. You call out their orders one-by-one, “Heeseung, iced mocha,” and they come up to the table to snatch it from your hands.
“Thanks, dear friend of mine,” Heeseung says, tipping your service with a firm smack on the back.
“I spit in your drink,” you retort back. He ignores your threat and saunters over to his spot next to Beomgyu, who’s busy doing god knows what with the computer, aggressive keyboard noises filling the room. You have no idea what he’s doing, nor do you try to find out. The most help you can offer to these losers is being their coffee intern.
When you finish handing all of them their drinks, ready to disappear and head off to your own business for the day, Hyunjin’s voice perks up your ears. He announces something to the entire club, eyes glued to his phone like he’d just read something very interesting. “Hey,” he starts. “Apparently Jang Seung is the drummer for the econ department’s band. You know. For the festival next month.”
They all stop doing whatever they’re doing— all heads pivoting to Beomgyu’s corner, who has now stopped typing on the keyboard. 
Beomgyu promptly gets up. He marches over to the couch, near where you’re at, and fishes for his phone from the scattered bags on the cushion. “What are you doing?” asks Yeonjun. “I thought you won’t stop coding until nature starts calling the need for you to piss.” Beomgyu simply waves him off, successfully retrieving his phone. You watch as he taps and scrolls and taps and puts the device up to his ear. 
Everyone is looking at him. There’s a moment of silence before he finally says, “Hyung,” into the phone. You eye him curiously. He meets your gaze— a flicker of a second— before turning his head just a centimeter away. “You still haven’t found a singer and guitarist yet, have you?”
Your eyes widen. Holy shit.
“Cool. I’ll see you later.”
Beomgyu throws his phone back onto the pile. “You’ll be in the band?” you manage to quickly get in before he scuttles off into his station again.
He turns to you. A smile. “Yeah?” he says. “You’re gonna cheer for me again, right?”
“But I thought you said you didn’t want to—” you stop yourself. “Nevermind. I will cheer for you as long as I don’t have to wear an ugly tangerine cosplay again. Why do your department colors have to be orange?”
He laughs. “Wear whatever you want.”
The news finally settles into the rest of the club. “Oh my god. Oh my god, holy shit, fuck, wait— I’ll prepare the posters—” Heeseung frazzles. The rest of the idiots start freaking out too. Jeongin says he’s going to design a lightstick. Jesus christ. Beomgyu’s fanclub has greatly diminished since, well, the issue, but you’re amused to see that his biggest fanboys are still standing strong. You bid the coding club farewell as they prepare for their fanchants on top of having a deadline to catch. 
This changing of his mind just made seeing your friend’s face throughout the following weeks a lot more difficult. He gets home late almost everyday, sometimes not even coming home at all. You know this when there’s no invader unlocking your door and sauntering into your home at 11 p.m. just to complain about how tired he is. But he still texts you often. Too often, and he gets cranky when you don’t text him back even though all he sent is just a photo of his forehead with a sad face emoji, and you’re in the middle of taking notes for a class, and he gives you a call not long after to complain about his grievances out loud.
“Are you ignoring me?” You hear him huff over the phone. You’re on the way to leave campus now. Usually, you’d hitch a ride with Choi Beomgyu, but he’s been occupied lately, so it’s the bus for you today. The sun is setting. The moment you walk past the gates, there’s already a bus waiting for you.
“Cut to the chase,” you gripe, hopping onto the vehicle. “What do you want?
“Free up your schedule tonight,” he demands. Wow. Does he think you’re a pushover? “Band practice is finishing up early because of the Lantern Festival downtown. Let’s go check out the night market.”
“Sure,” you say. “If you’re late again, you have to pay for the equivalent of my wasted time.”
“I won’t be late! I promise, I’m gonna rush out as soon as—”
“Yeah, whatever,” you laugh. “See you later.”
Funny guy. Despite his packed schedule, he still manages to squeeze in some time to hang out with you. Whether it’s by knocking at your door at two in the morning for a sudden drive, or this. On holidays and special occasions. The Lantern Festival is celebrated annually in the city, matching the schedule of your own university’s autumn fest. It’s now early-mid November. You freshened up at your apartment before heading back out once the sun had fully set, waiting under the streams of brightly lit posts downtown. 
You look at Beomgyu’s last text saying that they’re finishing up and he’s gonna head out in a bit. That was twenty minutes ago. You begin counting his debt as you walk down the lantered streets lining the path towards Gwanghwamun Night Market, a thousand won every minute he’s late. There are countless stalls and pop-up bars, pitched up tents selling souvenirs and food and trinkets. There’s a lot of things to keep you busy while you wait for him.
Your eyes catch one particular stand upon closing into the area. On the table and display at the far end of the tent are countless second hand, vintage digicams for cheap. You walk up to it, fiddling with the displays before asking the store owner for his recommendations. He hands you a silver, retro looking camera, the Canon logo stamped on it, with its price tag dangling behind. It’s pretty affordable. You make the purchase, carefully storing it inside your tote bag just in time for your phone to buzz. 
A text from Choi Beomgyu. You whip your head around and stop the moment you see him looking lost amidst the crowded square, brows furrowed as he tries and fails to find you. You feel a laugh bubbling. You respond to his text. [eyes ahead, doofus] He follows your instructions, face brightening the moment he sees you. Beomgyu then quickly jogs up to your spot, a little sweaty and breathless and quite frankly disheveled. “Hey!” he calls out. “Sorry, there was traffic and I had to run away from my bandmates. They wanted to have dinner together, and, uh—”
“Thirty minutes.”
Your flat tone causes him to flinch. He presses his lips together, guilty. 
“I waited for thirty minutes,” you tell him. “You owe me thirty thousand won.”
Beomgyu lets out a grunt and an apology and starts towing you away. “Fine,” he whines. “Let’s eat first. I’m starving.” You let him drag you to the lines and lines of street food stalls, quickly finding something to settle your appetite, and before you know it, he’s scammed you into filling his 30k quota on nothing but snacks.
You realize this just as you and he are standing in front of a stall, sticks of fishcakes in hand and you’ve already half chewn yours. “Cheater!” you exclaim the moment it hits you. “You made me use up all your debt in less than an hour!”
He mocks you with a close-mouthed smile, cheeks still filled with fishcakes and he waves his stick at you, taunting.“Cry about it,” he muses. You roll your eyes. “Why? Did you want me to buy you something? I might consider it if you say it nicely.”
The sounds of nighttime festivities fill your ears. It’s very bright for eight in the evening. You buy another two sticks from the vendor. “Yeah. I do,” you reply, handing one of the sticks to Beomgyu. He takes it and starts nibbling. “I wanted you to buy me a turntable.”
And then he coughs on the fishcake. “The fuck?” he leers at you. You cackle and enjoy your own food without choking on it. “That’s— five times more than thirty fucking thousand won. You don’t even own any records? Wait, where did this even come from, you’ve never been interested in this kind of stuff, what the he—”
“I was joking, doofus,” you roll your eyes, but your lips remain smiling. Smiling because he looks so appalled, it’s funny. He doesn’t share your sentiment— the corners of his mouth downturned into a frown with knitted brows, and you snort at his expression. You throw away the empty sticks, ask the vendor how much you both owe, pay the equivalent, and your eyes wander off to the sound of chatting and laughing passing you by, groups of people funneling into the direction of the stream nearby. “Hey,” you tap on Beomgyu’s arm, before taking the liberty to grab a fistful of his sleeve, tugging him closer. “Let’s go check out what’s going on.“
Beomgyu allows himself to be dragged along by you without much protest into the shuffling crowd. You manage to squeeze into a gap, not even being able to turn your head and check on him when the pace of the crowd pushes you forward, moving further away from the bright and warm stringed lights of the night market, now into a dimmer portion of the area that greets your cheeks with cold brushes of the wind.
The crowd fizzles out near the ledge overhanging the stream, allowing you to patter your steps across the pavement, running up to get a better view of what’s underneath with Beomgyu’s still in tow. On the water, you see a line of intricate floats slowly making their way downstream. Historical arches and buildings, dragons and folklore. You can even see a Doraemon float way back in the line if you squint and the air is knocked out of your lungs, from sheer awe and amazement. It’s so pretty. What catches your attention more is further down, there are people releasing their own orbs of light into the water, and some letting the lanterns loose into the sky. 
“Whoa,” you breathe out. “That’s so cool.”
You feel a nudge on your shoulder. You turn to see Beomgyu, engulfed in the cold evening light, and he cocks his head back into the direction of the market. There you see a tent filled with similar looking lanterns that everyone else was releasing, not too far away with people queuing up in rows. Your head snaps back to Beomgyu, eyes sparkling. He huffs out a smile and leads you to the tent, getting in line to have your own.
“Please wait for any available spots by the table to write your wishes down.”
“Thank you,” you smile at the stall attendant, a paper lotus lantern in hand with Beomgyu right next to you, and you take a spot on the table the moment it becomes vacant. 
It doesn’t take you long to ponder your wish. Good health. A fucking boyfriend. The works. Not that you’re superstitious, but it’s a cute idea. You peer over at Beomgyu, who’s still holding an unopened marker with a thoughtful expression. His brows are furrowed, lips pursed, and all of a sudden, he snaps down and quickly scribbles something you can’t see. Wow. He’s serious about this, you laugh a little. “Are you done?” He jolts, a little surprised before looking up at you.
“Oh, yeah.” Beomgyu sets down the marker, picking up the lantern from the table. “Are you?”
The both of you get off to get your lanterns lit up, and the once pink-tinted paper now burns a warm orange in your hands, toasting up your palms in spite of the cold weather. You head off back to the stream, all the way underneath the overhanging bridge to its shore. Carefully, you crouch down near the water, Beomgyu following your lead, and you look at him, the contours of his face tempered by an almost sunset-like glow amidst the frigid glimmer of the moon all around you.
“Do we just...drop them here?” he asks. You blink. You turn your head to the surface of the shimmering stream as it waits for your burning offering.
“I—I guess so,” you cough out. “Should we count?”
“You’re so lame,” he laughs. You glare at him. “Sure. On three. One—”
“Two.”
“Three.”
The lanterns escape from your grasps at the same time, pulled away from you by the current and the breeze. You watch as the two orange orbs slowly float away above the water, bumping into each other, drifting away from each other for a mere moment before colliding again, and remaining at that same proximity as they both follow the same current, pushed by the same breeze. 
You look at Beomgyu, who watches the two lanterns until they fully escape your line of sight. 
“What did you wish for?” you ask. 
His gaze shifts over to you. It’s heavy. You clear your throat and avert your eyes.
“You can’t just ask those kinds of questions,” he jeers, bringing up a hand to your retreating face just to punch your nose. “That’s gonna nullify my wish. Stop trying to sabotage me.”
“I’m not! I was just curious!” You swat his hand away, annoyed. You two are still crouching by the stream, hands resting on your knees. There’s a lot of people around you too, also indulging in the festival tradition. At this point, your lanterns have been completely swallowed by the multitude of other glowing lotuses on the water. You’re pretty sure that the government is just gonna clean it all up come morning and throw them into the dump. So much for lantern wishes. Whimsy destroyed. Romanticism ruined.
Before your nihilism can completely take over, Beomgyu starts speaking again. “The game deadline is nearing,” he suddenly starts. “And the uni autumn festival is like, next week.” For some reason, you can hear a sigh in his voice. Poor idiot. He must be so tired. “I seriously can’t wait for everything to be over. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t even been able to drive you home lately.”
You stare at the water. You feel a knot in your throat which you cough out, bumping your shoulder against his before your arms stretch out, fingers locking and elbows hitting your knees to release the tension in your muscles. “I can get home by myself, you know,” you tell him, allowing your hands to hang languidly in the air.
“I know,” he says, reaching out for your pinky finger, a jolt of warmth running down your spine as he plays around with the contours of the joint, tracing down to the tip of the finger when he continues, “It’s getting colder. We should go.”
Beomgyu pulls you up with him when he stands, fully enclosing his hand with yours.
He drives the both of you home that night. First time in a while, and the last time in an even longer while because he gets even busier. Band practice. Club meetings. Game dev contest on top of your also staggering amount of coursework. Most of your time is spent with Minjeong and Sungchan because Heeseung has also been swallowed by work. Poor pathetic guy number two. He deserves all of his misery.
It’s a weekday, and you’re at the library with Minjeong and Hanbin this time. He’s been liberated from coding duty because he has an exam tomorrow. These two have just been formally acquainted with each other, as far as you know, but while taking a bathroom break with Minjeong for a brief moment, she suddenly tells you, “I like him better than Beomgyu.”
You cock a brow at her through the mirror, shaking your wet hands over the sink. “Hanbin? What’s the point of comparison here?”
“Yeah,” she answers, retouching her lip gloss. “He doesn’t make fun of you and he’s less annoying. You should date him instead.”
A laugh leaves your lips. You walk over to dry your hands and once the restroom is relieved from the echoing whirs of the drying machine, you quip back. “Hanbin is nice, but he’s not my type. Just because I want to date doesn’t mean I’m just gonna try it with every decent guy I know,” you nag as you walk out the restroom and back into the library. “And I think he has eyes on someone else. And quit hating on Beomgyu. He annoys everyone he likes. If you think he’s annoying then you’ve fallen into his trap. Congratulations, you and he are friends.”
On the way back to your table, you notice a group of students eyeing you. While passing, you hear one of them whisper. But it’s too loud of a whisper. Like you were meant to hear it.
“I can’t believe she still has the guts to show her face on campus.”
Minjeong stops in her tracks. “The fuck did you just say?”
“Leave it be,” you sigh, tugging your friend away before she starts a cat fight in the library premises. Yeah. You’ve already been branded as a cheating whore. Maybe you should just give up dating altogether.
“Why do you keep letting these fuckers talk shit about you?! Let me at ‘em—”
It’s less of you being a pushover and more of you not wanting to waste energy, really. You’ve gone through this bullcrap in high school (though at a lighter degree). People believe what they want to believe and it doesn’t matter what you tell them. So, why bother. You have a group of nerds plus Minjeong and Sungchan behind your back, anyway. And of course, Choi Beomgyu, who got into a fight with his friends (former friends, he insists) that were involved with the anonymous post issue. The funny thing is, they all apologized to him with their foreheads scraping the ground not even a day after the event, but none of them even bothered trying to receive your forgiveness— until Beomgyu pointed it out and they eventually, reluctantly, came to your feet to mumble out incoherent sorrys.
It’s whatever. The post got taken down, but you still hear some snide remarks here and there like just now. Again, it’s whatever. It’s not gonna stop you from enjoying your uni life. Which is why you’re here, right now, at the uni autumn festival with a trove of nerds who are all arguably vitamin D deficient, all carrying banners and flags with Choi Beomgyu’s name in one way or another, waiting for the Battle of the Bands to start at the campus courtyard.
“Put this on!” Hyunjin shoves a bright, orange bandana into your hands with bold, white text text BAMTORIS 4 BEOMGYU on it. They came up with a fucking fanclub name. Your head rings. The bandana wrinkles in your hand as you shove it into your coat pocket, never to see the light of day.
“Hey, it’s starting!”
The large, heavy speakers boom through the crowd. Indeed, it is starting, and you already can’t wait to go home. But you persist. You’re going home after Choi Beomgyu’s stage. His text said they’ll be performing fourth, after the economics department. You can handle that much noise and chaos. Your social energy needs to last, else you’d have to coax a sulking dog tomorrow for ditching him. The host screams a welcoming spiel into the mic, and everyone else starts screaming. You wince. Yeah, you can deal with this.
When the performances started, you were actually able to vibe a little with the music. Having Heeseung shaking you around and screaming lyrics into your ear does help a bit. When the third band comes up however, you feel the mood around you shift. The coding club boys are so much louder now. No, they’re not cheering. They’re hell bent on sending an overpowering amount of boos and jeers at Jang Seung the moment he got up on stage.
The guy was so flustered at the non-cheers that he was offbeat for half the song. You’re thoroughly enjoying this. Heeseing continues yelling different iterations of, “Get off the stage! You suck!” until Jang Seung finally does with his bandmates drilling dirty looks at him. You laugh. Absolutely deserved.
The boys’ jeers shift again the moment the host calls out the ICT department onstage. They start cheering. Very loudly. Ferally, almost. You see Beomgyu walk his way into the center, electric guitar hanging from his neck as the lights focus on him. You hear nothing but yelling. Jesus fucking christ. It’s an assault at all fronts with Heeseung, Yeonjun, Jeongin, and Hyunjin surrounding you. Maybe...maybe you shouldn’t have joined these damned nerds.
It hushes down when Beomgyu grabs the mic to give an introduction of the band. Heeseung is still screeching, though. You grow concerned.
“Anyway, sing and dance along if you know the lyrics.”
Beomgyu’s hands grip the microphone as you hear his voice continue through the speakers, staring down at the crowd as if he’s looking for something. Then his eyes land on you. You’re taken aback for a moment. Just a moment, because you manage a smile. Good luck, you mouth, hands cupping your lips. 
He smiles back. “This song— is you.”
The instrumental is familiar. A guitar sings. Drum beats crash. You’ve heard this numerous times from Beomgyu’s playlist before. In his car. Along the streets. On the floor of his apartment at three in the morning after he called you out to do nothing in particular until you fall asleep on the couch. Then his voice resonates in the night, carried by the still familiar melody and you feel your heart thump along with the bass vibrating from the speakers. 
Time and time again, Choi Beomgyu proves to you that he’s always meant for the spotlight. He belongs there, to receive all the attention and adoration of everyone that catches sight of him. Seeing him up there brings an unconscious smile on your face. That is until you feel Heeseung shove his shoulder against you, prying your attention away from the blinding stage lights to the dim glow of your friend’s lightstick. “Hey, lovergirl,” he says, grinning widely. “He says he’s nothing without you.”
“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes, cheeks stretched by a flurry of heat. “It’s just a song.”
It’s over before you know it. You were able to snag a few shots of your friend at the near end there as per his request for his Instagram feed, but your plan to run away after their performance is ruined because the boys have decided to hold you hostage because, “There’s no way you’re missing tonight’s celebration!” as if the winners have already been announced. There’s like three bands left. Tonight, you suffer.
Still, your waiting and leg aches for standing too long aren’t wasted because when the winners are indeed announced, the ICT department are called as the victors, and the rest of the night is a blur of hoots and yells and many, many bars and clubs all throughout the city. 
Unfortunately for you, this is only the start of your series of night outs leading up to the end of the year. 
After finals, Sungchan dragged you and Minjeong out for another night out to celebrate. When TXT Inc. announced the winners for their game development competition not long after, you’re dragged to another night out since the boys managed to scrape by 3rd place and save their club from the threat of administrative shut-down.
You’re exhausted. Absolutely drained. You sleep the entire car ride home to Daegu with Beomgyu, recharging just enough for the joint Christmas eve dinner with your family and his. Your friend manages to notice your pitiful state and saves you from conversations by answering questions from the parents on your behalf over the meal.
“Ah, I heard from our daughter that you performed at your festival last month? Oh, how was it? You used to sing and dance during our village Christmas parties all the time when you were still in elementary school.”
“He was trying so hard to look cool, dad.” Regardless of your exhaustion, your system always has enough energy to jump at the opportunity to make fun of him. 
Beomgyu glares at you from across the table, and you feel a kick from underneath. “I was cool. We won, if you forgot. Just so you know, I only joined to put that Jang Seung back in his—” You kick him back. Beomgyu jolts, eyes widen. Oops, he sends you an apologetic look. You send him a silent warning in return.
“Who’s Jang Seung?” his mother asks, curious.
“Some annoying guy from our department. He likes to think he’s cooler than me and I needed to give him a reminder,” Beomyu responds. You release a silent sigh and sip on your drink. “Which I am. Proven by my victory during the competition.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.”
“Auntie! She’s being mean again!”
By the time you reach your apartment building, the clock at around eleven at night, you are barely alive. The rest are walking ahead of you. You are but a bamboo stick getting brushed along by the wind and Choi Beomgyu’s stops you from falling face flat into the floor because you bump into him.
“Idiot,” he scolds, balancing you by the shoulders. “C’mon. Let’s go. I’ll be your navigator up the stairs, you withering stick of bamboo.”
“Wait,” you protest (verbally, because you have no strength left in your body and could not physically stand your ground). Beomgyu eyes you, halting from bodying you all the way up the apartment. You look over his shoulder to yell at your parents up ahead. “You go in first! I’m gonna talk to Beomgyu for a sec!”
“It’s late,” your mom narrows her eyes at you. “Can’t you two talk tomorrow?”
“It’s—it’s important,” you stammer. You look at Beomgyu. He raises a brow, confused and suspicious.
You step on his foot. He gapes his mouth and lets out a silent swear. You make a face. He makes a face back before letting out a defeated grunt, spinning his heels to confirm your initial sentiments. “We won’t be long. Mom, you can toss the keys to me. I’ll lock up.”
Not long after, you and Choi Beomgyu are left alone at the foot of your apartment building. He stuffs his apartment keys into his pockets, swirling around to look at you with a face stoned by disapproval. “What is it?” he gnaws. “You’re about to pass out any second. What could be more important than getting some sleep right now?”
You ignore his nagging. “Come to the playground with me,” is your unrelated response. His face jitters— disapproval churning into a shock of anxiety, but he attempts to brush it off.
“You’re not gonna ask me to do something along the lines of pretending like we don’t know each other, righ—”
“No! Fuck off! I’ll go alone if you don’t want to.”
“I’m coming,” he sternly says, trailing behind your heated steps to a corner of the apartment square, on the way to the playground at the back of the building. “At least tell me what you want to talk about first.”
“It’s—it’s nothing bad.”
“You’re being suspicious.”
“I’m not!”
Your foot stomps over the dirt of the playground, pressing your lips together as you scramble out your phone to check the time. 11:13 p.m. Dammit. Your coat pocket feels heavy, the thing inside snuggled deep and concealed. How do you distract him for forty-seven more minutes? He’s already yawning. Your eyes flicker around— the spring riders catching your attention first. “Come here,” you say stiffly, just as mechanically hopping onto what you assume is a duck on the spring. 
Beomgyu is evidently weirded out by you, but he follows you anyway, unquestioning whenever you lead him from one equipment and ride in the playground to the next— the swings, spinners, monkey bars, tubes, slides, even the fucking climbers that probably can’t handle your weight. It’s not the most appropriate age and weather to be doing this, but you needed something to kill the time.
The only thing left untouched are the seesaws. It’s 11:55. God damn it. You’ve been willfully avoiding this contraption in case it reawakens your moment of shame and weakness, but having been caught in the pattern you’ve started, Beomgyu is already plopping down on one of the ends.
You bite your tongue. You follow and take your spot on the other end, quiet. The both of you see and saw in silence, most likely carrying the same thing in your minds.
The moment your feet hit the ground again, you stay there. You flip open your phone. Three more minutes. Beomgyu springs you up in the air. You’re brought back down.
“Whatever you’re planning on saying—” he starts, from above. “Don’t say it.”
“It’s not what you think!” you argue. Two more minutes. “Stop moving. Hold on a sec.”
You and Beomgyu are on both ends, both on the ground. One more minute. He eyes you suspiciously, maybe even nervously and you don’t blame him. You dig into your coat pocket, feeling the crumple of the smooth fabric of the pouch you pocketed before leaving for dinner earlier, the item hard in your hand.
“Choi Beomgyu, you’ve been working hard all semester.” Your phone alarm rings. Fucking finally. You pull the pouch out of your pocket. “I thought maybe you deserve a treat.”
You toss it at him. He lets go of the seesaw handle to catch it.
“Merry Christmas, fuckface.”
The pouch lands in his hands. He just stares at it for a moment, eyes wide in surprise and your heart rattles. Why are you nervous right now? You begin to palpitate even further when he actually pulls the strings open, revealing the vintage digicam you bought during the lantern festival. From the moment you saw the stall, you knew the sentimental idiot would like one of these. It’s been waiting in your drawer for this occasion. You start to feel even more self conscious every second he takes to examine it.
“I—I know it’s a bit cheap,” you stammer. “But I already spent so much money on your birthday gift, so don’t you even dare—”
Click!
You look up to see the camera in front of Beomgyu’s face. You blink. He puts it down, tinkering with the buttons with a smile on his face. “I like it,” he says, flashing his eyes at you. “It’s pretty.”
Without a second to waste, you jump off the fucking seesaw and Choi Beomgyu’s ass lands on the ground. “Hey, delete that!”
“Nuh-uh! No way!” he fends you off, swatting away your hands as you straddle him on the dirt ground. “You gave it to me so this is mine! I can do whatever I want with it!”
“My portrait rights! You’re violating the law!”
“Ow! That hu— owww! Fine! Okay, fine—”
It’s Christmas, and the both of you are on the dusty ground of your apartment complex’s playground, a little breathless from squabbling. Beomgyu has one forearm shielding himself from your attacks, the other keeping the camera safe to his chest.
“I’ll delete it! I’ll delete it on one condition.”
You slump back, already tired. “What?” you wheeze. 
He grunts and picks himself up, dusting his clothes and you follow not long after once you’ve caught your breath. “Come to my place for a sec.”
This time, you’re the one eyeing him with suspicion. Still, he humored you tonight, so you shall humor him too. You follow him into the building, up the flights of stairs until you reach your floor. Beomgyu grumbles out a few swears under his breath as he puts more effort than necessary to unlock the door to his place. “Need a little help doing simple movements there, buddy?”
“Shut your mouth,” he grunts, finally managing to unlock it. 
Their festive living room greets you upon entry. The rug is different from what you remember. The curtains shielding the interior from the moonlight have gingerbreads and snowmen on them. Beomgyu leads you up to the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, painted with tinsel and ornaments and stars. He sits down on the carpet, patting on the spot next to him without looking at you and you gingerly cross your legs down. He digs into the mix of real and fake gift boxes for decoration. You know because some have names, some are blank.
“I didn’t expect you to throw me a gift right at midnight. That was an unprompted attack.” He finally leans back with a pretty big box in hand, setting it down on the floor right in front of you. “Still. I refuse to lose. Here.”
There’s a name on it. Yours. From your pretty and handsome and amazing most favorite person, Choi Beomgyu. You snort.
“Open it,” he nudges.
“Now?”
“Duh.”
He’s annoying, but you let him off. Carefully, you unwrap the ribbon, a pang of nervous anticipation hitting your bones as your hands hover over the box lid. 
You open the present.
You see the gift.
Your hands instinctively jerk back down to fucking close it.
“Choi Beomgyu! I said it was a joke! Why would you—” you hiss out, a quiet scream as you throw your head around to look at him, only for the words to fizzle out your throat upon seeing the expectant look on his face. His eyes are big and sparkly and looking at you with so much expectation. Your face grows hot, the burn even more palpable amidst the December weather, and you suck in a deep breath, looking down in acceptance and defeat. “A fucking turntable. You’re insane. Why would you get me this? You said it yourself that I don’t even own any records or LPs or whatever you use for this. What’s wrong with you?”
“You said you wanted one.” He’s grinning. He’s grinning very proudly. “Merry Christmas, dipshit. Now, we’re even.”
Ah. God damn it. He really is insane.
“He got you a what?”
Within the last week of December, you and Beomgyu return back to Seoul. There’s some crap to do at uni regarding your scheduling and classes, and Jung Sungchan is throwing yet another party to celebrate the incoming new year. Not at his parent’s place this time because he got an earful after the previous party. He’s hosting it in his apartment, so the invitation list is smaller. More bearable, because you and Minjeong are forced to attend again. 
“Girl, you don’t even own any records.” Minejeong’s head pops up from the other side of the clothes rack, looking both appalled and amazed from the information she’d just received from you. “Have you even used it yet?”
“No!” you remark in response. “The thing has been catching dust in my apartment and I’m starting to feel bad. Is it okay if we stop by a record store after this?”
Which is why you and she are out shopping right now to buy a cute new year’s outfit to match Sungchan’s black and gold party theme. You don’t understand why he has to have a theme, but it’s a good excuse to treat yourself to some new clothes. You and your friend have been thrifting and boutique hopping, spending a good chunk of your holiday money for a one-day millionaire spree. 
A few shopping bags in hand, a bell jangles when you push open the door to a vintage record store you saw in passing earlier, in between thrift stores. The scent of rubber, dusty wood, and pressed vinyl hit your senses, along with the dull hum of music from the store’s speakers from the background. You walk in with no plan on what the fuck you should buy, so needless to say you are overwhelmed by the gigantic selection on display.
“Hey, how may I help you?”
The singular employee present in the store has probably noticed your swirling eyeballs trying to take in everything. “Oh, I’m just looking around,” you say with a smile. The store clerk smiles back, telling you to feel free to browse, and you thank him. He’s tall, presumably college-aged with sandy hair, and your mind wanders around the idea that it would be nice to find another part-time job for extra allowance. But your break is almost over. And you’d have to look for somewhere else because it won’t be a great idea to work at Horangnabi again and deal with the rest of the studentry considering your current, uh, reputation.
But you’re not here to dwell on that. You’re here to finally put Choi Beomgyu’s fucking gift to good use. Minjeong stays by the door with her phone while you walk further into the store with the clerk trailing behind you. As you run your hands over a few familiar covers, familiar names and titles, he shoots you a few questions here and there— are you looking for a specific artist? What kind of music do you like? I can give you some recommendations if you’d like? Clearly, there’s something more than customer service going on here. 
As you check out a selection of two records (because holy shit, these are expensive), it dawns on you that it’s almost the end of the year, and you still have yet to find a god damned boyfriend. Granted, you don’t believe doing so will help salvage your image in any way at all, but it kind of sucks to think that you’ll be spending another new year single and lonely.
“Come again any time.”
Well, maybe not too lonely because you won’t have time to think about any nihilistic bullshit at Jung Sungchan’s party. Minjeong scolds you as you walk out the store with a new paper bag and no new number in your contacts. “He was clearly trying to hit on you,” she says.
“He’s not my type,” you deflect back. She clicks her tongue and nags you that every shot you don’t take is a miss, and you simply brush her off with a laugh. But she has a point. Maybe you’re the reason why you’ve been single this entire time. Perhaps the universal false assumption that you and Choi Beomgyu have been dating for the past one-hundred years has nothing to do with it.
Lee Heeseung agrees with this new speculation of yours. “You’re too prickly,” he says over brunch at a local bed-and-breakfast. You and Minjeong meet up with him right after your shopping spree because he just happened to be in the area. “And a little scary. Everyone from the club used to be afraid of you at first because you’re so mean.”
“You nerds are just losers,” Minjeong defends you. 
“Wow. Two bullets in one shot,” you say in between enjoying your bacon, fried rice, and eggs.
“Hey, you have no right to say anything. You’re single too.” Heeseung points his fork at her. “It can’t be helped. This is unsalvageable. It seems like I must share this secret trick I found on TikTok to solve all of your problems.” 
“That source sounds very credible,” you snort.
“I haven’t even said anything yet!” Heeseung proceeds to explain the secret trick: eat twelve grapes under the table within the minutes passing into the new year, and your wish will be granted. You nearly cough out your brunch. Minjeong bursts out laughing right next to you. You can’t even begin to imagine how Heeseung managed to land himself into that side of the app.
“Incredible,” she chortles out. “What do you plan on wishing for, Hee? For you to get back together with—”
“No!” he screeches out. “No way. That era of my life is over now. I’m gonna get accepted at HYBE Inc. for my fucking internship.”
“Wow,” you gape, taking a sip from your iced tea. “You’re maturing.”
“Right? This is crazy.”
Heeseung’s outburst melts down, and the redness slowly starts seeping out from his cheeks. He looks at you, a little proud and rubs a finger under his nose with a grin. “Heh. It’s nothing.”
“You’ve got some rice on your face, Mr. Maturity.” You hear an ‘oh shit,’ from across the table as you look down to your lit up phone from a message notification coming in. Your eyes narrow, letting your utensils clatter on your plate to make a few taps on the phone screen. “You asked Beomgyu to come?” you ask, looking back up at Heeseung. “Why is the idiot telling me he’s on the way here?”
Specifically, it was a shot of him from the eyes up and a bus ceiling with [omw 2 u 🛵🛵] plastered on his forehead. “Oh, he’s coming?” Heeseung responds, unsurprised. “He asked if I wanted to hit the PC room with him. I told him I’m still with you two and sent him my location.”
“Ah, fuck me. Now I have to change seats.” You watch in slight confusion as Minjeong pushes her food over to Heeseung’s side of the table before following suit, leaving the space next to you cold and barren and empty, and your look of confusion muddles into betrayal. “Hey, don’t give me that look. Beomgyu always follows you around like a puppy with severe attachment issues and I don’t really want to be caught in between the both of you.”
“He does not!” you defend, your fist bouncing on the table with a clatter, just in time for your eyes to flicker off to the direction of the restaurant door opening, welcoming a Choi Beomgyu, who’s whipping his head around to look for you three, inside.
“Hey, dude, over here!”
Unfortunately, he proves Minjeong correct. Beomgyu turns his head to you at the recognition of Heeseung’s voice, blank face shifting into an easy smile. His next set of movements are programmed right into his system: he walks up to you, he plops down right next you, and he dips his head down to take a long sip from your iced tea, right before releasing a refreshed lip-smack and sigh with his shit-eating grin, directed right at you. “Thanks for the treat.” His hand meets the top of your head, utterly ruining your hair. 
“Fuck off. No one even invited you here.” You wrestle him off with your elbow. Beomgyu retreats by letting his arm stretch behind your back, causing the cushion of the booth seats to sink down while he calls a waiter for the menu. You feel your throat dry. You reach for the ice tea Choi Beomgyu just drank a third of to rinse down the dryness. Minjeong’s eyes are on you. Heeseung is pressing his mouth together, and his face is pissing you off.
“Do you want me to find another table then? I see you’re almost done with your meals.” The bitch is trying to play victim. You give him a look of aversion. He’s unfazed, looking at Heeseung with a subtle quirk of his lips inching towards victory, because the latter took his bait.
“I’m ordering another meal,” Heeseung announces. “You. Sit. We’re hitting the PC room after this.”
“Sure thing.” All you can do is sigh while Beomgyu sticks his tongue out at you. “Quit grumbling,” he snarks. “And quit acting like you don’t want me around. Didn’t you say it yourself? Should I give you a refresher? Ahem, what makes you think I can’t live without—”
“Moving on!” 
Your face is now hot. Beomgyu is still grinning like a bastard, but he doesn’t finish the statement. You can still see the amusement on the corners of his lips even when he leans down to sip from your iced tea again. “I hate being here,” Minjeong breathes out, gulping down the last of her drink before slamming the glass down onto the table.
Beomgyu’s order arrives. “Why are you two so moody today?” He points a pair of chopsticks at Minjeong before stabbing them into his salad. “Did your shopping trip go badly or some shit?”
“For your information, our day was going great until you showed up,” you glare at him.
“Yeah,” Minjeong doubles down. Heeseung’s second meal also arrives. He ignores the squabbles and starts happily digging in. “Our shopping trip was great. You should see the dress she bought for the party. It’s really pretty.”
At that mention, Beomgyu’s head tilts, eyes flickering over to your direction. “Is it?” 
There’s something in the tone of his voice that forces you to swallow something down. “Mind your own business, buster,” you hiss at him. He shrugs and continues eating. “What the hell is Jung Sungchan thinking dress coding a college party, anyway? It’s not like he’d kick me out if I end up wearing bright green.”
“Is the dress you bought bright green?” Beomgyu chimes in. “Now I’m even more curious.”
You look at him, face scrunched up. “If you want to wear my dress, just say so.”
“Hey, I think I’d body it.”
“Oh my fucking god.”
Indeed, no one gets kicked out for wearing the wrong thing. The moment you walk into Jung Sungchan’s blasted apartment, you see red, pink, purple, maroon amidst the gold foil decorations and fuzzy warping lights. No, Choi Beomgyu did not show up in your dress. He’s in a beige wool blazer, white undershirt, and lazy black trousers with a beer can in hand, waiting for your arrival by the door. “Oh, hey.” You do not recall beige being in the goddamned dress code. At least his pants are black and his necklace is gold. “You’re here.”
“I wish I weren’t,” you grunt, wiggling out of your coat because although it’s currently the cold season, Sungchan’s apartment is humid. Though it’s significantly less people than his house party last summer, it’s still thirty people more than to your liking. You grimace, hanging the garment on your forearm. “Where is he? Where’s the host of this shithole?”
You point up your chin, looking around for Sungchan, but to no avail. Maybe he’s at the balcony, but your friend over here isn’t answering you.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.” You whip your head back to Beomgyu. He hasn’t left, no. He’s just standing there, a faint buzz tinting his cheeks. You peer at the drink he’s holding. You click your tongue, waving a hand in front of his face. “Hello?”
Luckily, he isn’t fully checked out yet. He swats your hand away and clears his throat. “I think he’s on the balcony. C’mon.”
Sungchan greets you with a barreling hug and nearly bulldozes you into the floor because he’s a dramatic bastard who hasn’t seen you since finals week. “Now that you’re here, we can officially start the party!” he yells, as if it hadn’t already started, and drags your limp body back to the living room. Right now, it’s around ten in the evening. Minjeong clocks in not long after you and gets roped into the mess of drinking games happening on Sungchan’s carpeted floor, already a few rounds in.
In between all the yelling and the music and the chants to chug, chug, chug it, Heeseung stands up with a microphone in hand. You have no idea where he got that from, but he has it, and has decided that it would be a great idea to start singing your hearts out. 
“Sing or drink! Sing or drink!”
Yeah, no. You’re downing that fucking shot.
“Boo! You’re no fun!” Heeseung jeers at you. You toss him the now red solo cup with the droplets of whatever the fuck they mixed into that, gagging slightly. The microphone eventually gets snatched by a very drunk Yeonjun, who already got his necktie wrapped around his head. This is a big mess. Yeonjun gets his solo moment. He starts singing Through the Fire by Chaka Khan.
“Yeonjun hyung! Yeonjun hyung!”
“Hyung, why do you have to graduate?!”
“Hyung, I’ll miss you!”
You’re definitely not drunk enough for this. By eleven-thirty, you’re already fucking exhausted, so you ready to escape to the kitchen. A lot of people have left, the ones remaining consisting mostly of Sungchan’s close friends. Minjeong sees you escaping and runs after you. “Going down for a bit. I need some fresh fucking air.”
“Don’t die,” you hum, patting her out the door.
“You don’t die.” She nudges back at the directions of the living room, where the boys are gathered in a sudden emotional huddle. Choi Beomgyu included. The year’s coming to an end. Meaning a few of them are gonna be graduating from uni soon like Yeonjun. You swear you can hear someone wailing. “I don’t want to deal with that. Good luck. Hide safe, soldier.”
She salutes you off, marching out the door. You turn back to look at the mess of the apartment. Sungchan’s prettily hung gold foil have either been ripped off, their remnants tattered on the floor, or barely strewn. There’s still music playing, the bass thrumming through the walls. Cups and plastic and confetti and a few pairs of shoes are scattered all over the floor. You grimace and walk over a wet spot, heading over to the kitchen to help yourself with whatever wine’s still left over.
Pouring yourself a glass, you can’t help but notice what’s left on the moderately sized dining table. Jung Sungchan put an effort to drape it with a pretty sheet of fabric stitched with metallic gold, serving as a bed for the display of various round fruits at the center. A single melon. A bowl of oranges and kiwis beside the bed of green and red apples. You huff out a small laugh, teeth clinking against the rim of the wine glass. Even Jung Sungchan is a little superstitious. You’ve heard about the round fruits for good luck on new year’s before. It’s a miracle none of these were massacred. Save maybe for the half-eaten apple abandoned right by the sink.
Your eyes notice the package of untouched shine muscat grapes sitting soundly on the table, still covered in plastic wrap. You check the time on your phone. 11:45 p.m. Heeseung’s dumb voice echoes in your brain. Twelve grapes. Wishes. Good luck. Superstitions. God, this shit has been haunting you since November.
“Hyung! Promise me you’ll still visit the club even after you graduate, okay? Promise that you’ll—”
“Dude, you have to learn to let go! If you love someone, let them go!”
“No! I don’t want to let Yeonjun hyung go!”
Still. Just like the paper lanterns last month. Just like the damned alarm you have on your phone that rings every night when the clock strikes eleven-eleven, you find yourself falling for this bullshit again.
This is fine, right? No harm in humoring the teeniest-tiniest possibility that these affirmations will hold true? Before you know it, you have the grapes in your person, the tablecloth flung open for a glimpse of a second, and ten minutes before the new year, a singular thought runs laps inside the pitch darkness of your head in the form of the question— can you get any more fucking pathetic?
“What...what the hell are you doing?”
You wince, light leaking into your safe space under the dining table, at the same time as the intrusion of Choi Beomgyu’s voice. You look up at him. He has peeled back the tablecloth— your cover— and honestly you’re not even offended by the look of pure and absolute judgment littering his face right now. You’re judging yourself too for listening to Heeseung’s fucking stupid trick, crawling underneath the table at new year’s party for god’s sake, sitting on a dirty ass floor, a bowl of grapes on your lap, a glass of wine next to your folded up legs, and an expression not befitting the holiday spirit because you’re looking up at him like you want to die.
“I’m—I’m manifesting,” you say petulantly with a squeak, cheeks burning and refusing to explain any further for the sake of your shame and pride. It’s eleven-fifty. You hope he’d politely fuck off before midnight so you can do your business in peace.
Your eyes should be sending the message right now. Beomgyu continues to stare at you with a less than amused expression, a contemplative pause that you hope is a sign that he’s going to leave you alone. But, no. Your message does not come across because Beomgyu decides to plop down, cross-legged, right in front of you. 
“That doesn’t explain anything,” he says. Why can’t he just mind his own business? He should leave you and your grapes alone. “Sungchan’s looking for you and before I left the living room, he picked up a megaphone. Tell me what you’re scheming or else I’ll rat you out.”
“You, bitch!”
Eleven fifty-five. Shit. Choi Beomgyu doesn’t seem like he’s going to budge any time soon. His lips are pursed and he’s got the base of his palm holding up his chin. You bite down your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, taking in a sharp inhale before airing out your pathetic desperation in its rawest form.
“Like I said. I’m manifesting.”
His eyes narrow, brows furrowed. “Manifesting what exactly.”
“A fucking boyfriend.”
Whatever. Fuck it. He can make fun of you all he wants.
“Heeseung said if you eat twelve grapes from eleven fifty-nine to twelve o’one on new year’s, your wish will be granted. I—I—I looked it up because it sounded stupid, but—” You pause. You take a half a second glance at Beomgyu’s expression and decide that you are unable to look him in the eye. “Listen, Beomgyu, I’m desperate. I’m grasping at the straws here. I’m sick and tired of being single and misunderstood by all those damned fucking rumors and I know you’re nowhere near responsible, but I’m very annoyed right now, okay? So, if you’re just gonna make fun of me, please leave because there’s only, like three minutes left before twelve, and I really don’t want you deliberately ruining my chances this time, Choi Beomgyu.”
You breathe in. That. That took you an entire minute to say. Maybe you drank a little too much. Maybe you were rattling on like a maniac just now, but you can’t quite decipher Beomgyu’s reaction to your insanity. 
Is he judging you? Is he weirded out? Pitying you? Because you sure are pitying yourself right now, but you don’t fucking know because all he’s doing is looking at you dead in the eye, face unmoving, totally blank expression, and you gulp. What the hell is he getting at?
Two minutes left. You hear the premature hiss of fireworks outside. “Scoot over,” he finally says. “I can’t believe you’re doing something stupid by yourself and leaving me out.”
“Wh—what are you doing?!”
The tablecloth falls. Your vision is darkened. Choi Beomygyu is wedged right next to you underneath Sungchan’s dining table, on the dirty kitchen floor of his apartment, two minutes before the start of a new year. A new point in history. And here you are, with your friend of over twenty years who’s plucked a shiny green grape from the stem, rolling it between his fingers with an unsure look. “Twelve? We have to eat twelve of these?”
“You don’t have to do it if you’re just gonna make fun—”
Beomgyu pops the grape into his mouth. 
“How many minutes do we have again?”
You pause a little, staring into space before coughing out, “Th—three.” You put a handful of grapes into the cup of your palm to toss it all in there in one shot. It’s twelve fifty-fine. “Three minutes. Starting now.”
“Got it.”
Now, you can’t even begin to fathom the absurdity of this scene. You can hear the boys making a ruckus from the other room, yelling into the megaphone, counting down while you continue to shovel the fruit into your mouth. Eight. You have eight left. 
“Woohoo! Happy new year!”
Fireworks are bursting, music is blaring.
“Six! Five!”
Four. Four grapes left in your hands. The juice spurts into your mouth. You glance up at Beomgyu. His brows are knitted together, counting the remaining grapes he has to swallow down before the time is up. 
“Two!”
You seriously can’t believe you two are doing this. You’re about to choke, stuffing the remaining grapes into your cheeks and god forbid your obituary say that you died asphyxiating on round fruit on December 31, 11:59 p.m. Seriously. How did you get so pathetic? You swallow down the last bit of fruit while the rest of your friends are having fun outside. So single, so desperate, so pathetic. You’re never gonna eat another grape again.
“One!”
And the thought hits you 
“Happy new year!”
If you’re so single, so desperate, and so pathetic, then—
“Done!”
Beomgyu’s sudden voice causes you to jump and bump your head against the table. His eyes widen, and firm hands clasp your shoulders to pull you in. “Sorry, are you okay?” he sputters out, little panicked while one hand travels up to the top of your head— where he’d usually ruffle, tousle to ruin your hair and annoy you, but this time Beomgyu’s touch is gentle, checking to see if he’s caused any damage, while your face remains pushed down, eyes trained on the ground where your tight knuckles are pressed into. 
The fireworks haven’t stopped. There’s still a lot of noise outside, but Beomgyu’s soft voice manages to ripple through everything you hear. 
“Nothing hurts, right? You’re good?” 
He guides you to look at him, hands gingerly placed on the sides of your head, and you can feel his index fingers grazing the helix of your ears. You look at him. His former blank, judgemental stare softened with a concern that almost sounds like he’s carrying the weight of the whole universe on his shoulders, as if accidentally causing you to bump your head against the table would endanger the fate of the world.
You’re so single, so desperate, so pathetic, and also so, so stupid because why did you even waste your wishes on that paper lantern, those twelve grapes, and all the countless eleven-elevens these past months when the answer to your wish has been right in fucking front of you this entire time?
“At this point, we should just start dating.”
You gasp.
You cover your mouth, jolting up. Your voice was a little louder than you thought, and your heart sinks down into your stomach as you try to focus your rattled gaze at Beomgyu— at his face, his expression, but you don’t get to do any of that. You don’t get to laugh it off, take it back, say it was just a joke. A joke. Because just as when you open your mouth, the words threatening to jump out of your throat—
“You’re right.”
Beomgyu says something first, and none of it comes out.
“We should just do that.”
You’re not sure what you’re feeling, but it’s like your heart that got dropped right into the pits of your stomach just burst into a million, fluttering pieces.
Your breathing is ragged. Your eyes flit back up to Beomgyu. Your face flushes. Why isn’t he laughing? Why isn’t he saying it’s just a joke?
“Jesus christ—! There you two are! What the hell are you doing— oh my god, were you hooking up under the table?!”
“It’s new year’s, baby! Everyone, get crazy!”
You can’t feel your legs. You’re fished out from down there and into the mess of noises and singing and firecrackers bursting and you never get to clarify anything to Beomgyu, because he’s tugged along by Heeseung and Hyunjin for a group photo with the boys, and Sungchan and Minjeong are asking you a million questions that you can’t hear over the unfamiliar sound of your heartbeat. What...what is this? What the fuck is going on?
“Don’t tell me you actually did Heeseung’s stupid fucking trick.” 
And then it hits you.
Butterflies. There are butterflies in your stomach.
This cannot be normal. You douse them all dead with a shitload of alcohol. 
“Whoa, holy shit, that was half the bottle!”
That ought to kill the fluttering and buzzing insects. Only temporarily because the next morning, you’re hit with a different kind of buzzing.
Your head is ringing— buzzing— brain fuzzy, and when you open your eyes, you’re no longer in the mess of Jung Sungchan’s apartment. You’re in yours. In your bed. Still wearing your dress from last night under the covers. You have no idea how you got here. 
It takes a moment for your mind to settle. You groan, vision swaying when you lean over to the bedside desk to feel around for your phone. You don’t feel it. But you do feel your purse that has your phone in it. What the fuck. Seriously, how did you get home? When you turn it on, you see on your lock screen message notifications from Heeseung and Sungchan, asking if you got home safe, pictures from last night. Some of the events caught on camera, you remember happening. Some, you definitely don’t remember happening and you grow all the more concerned.
One text in particular pulls in the only memory you need to remember, though. It’s from Minjeong, saying [choi beomgyu hauled your ass home in case you’re wondering btw HAHAHHAHA i never saw you drink that much before. jesus christ].
And you freeze, the blood draining from your face as you recall just what happened during the new year’s countdown.
You might have asked out your friend of twenty years.
And he might have said yes.
Your face drops into the plush of your pillow, lurching over to let out a long, distressed scream. That fucking grape trick was more effective than you hoped. Instantaneous. Heeseung should’ve warned you of its effects, what the fuck. Your moment is ruined by the sound of dull knocking, which you can locate coming all the way from your front door. 
You pause, face still muffled into your pillow. The knocking is followed by a short pause. Then the sound of your door code beeping. Then your door unlocking.
Motherfucker, shit, fucking crap.
You throw your covers over yourself. You’re buried underneath. Choi Beomgyu can’t hurt you from down here. Maybe. God damn it, you don’t know what to do, you haven’t had the chance to think yet. The sound of footsteps from outside your room causes you to jitter. It’s still pretty far off, shuffling into the kitchen, you think, and they stop for a moment. Cupboards draw open. The sink turns on then stops. Footsteps resume. They enter your open bedroom door and you bite down a swear. Fuck it all, you’re so fucking fucked.
The desk chair behind you is pulled out, the sound of its legs screeching against the floorboards, ending with a quiet clatter. You hear a second clunk. Then the voice of someone sitting right behind your curled up and pathetic, vulnerable frame.
“I know you’re awake.”
Fuck. Fuck everything.
“C’mon, get up. It’s past two in the afternoon. I can’t believe I woke up earlier than you.”
Begrudgingly, you peel yourself out from under the covers, and just as hesitantly turn yourself around to face the face you aren’t quite ready to see at the moment with squinting eyes from the bright sunlight. You hear Beomgyu let out a sigh. “You drank way too much last night. Or this morning. Whatever.” Instead of looking directly at his face, you choose to look at whatever he’s brought to your desk instead. A tray. A tray with oatmeal, aspirin, and a glass of water. Your stomach is starting to act up again. You’re not sure if it’s whatever the fuck you drank last night, or something else. “How’s your head?”
Not well, thank you very much. You can’t even manage to verbalize your comeback. Shit, just how much have you fallen after just one slip-up. Why isn’t he bringing it up anyway? Why is he acting so normal? You grunt as you sit up from your bed, head still ringing as the aftermath of last night, and set the tray right onto your lap.
You drink your water, eat your meal, and take your medicine in silence. Beomgyu doesn’t do anything to bother you. All he does is watch you with steady eyes, gaze following the movements of your hand especially when you bring the water to your lips, leaned slightly forward as if he’s ready to jump in in case you drop it because your hands are shaking a little. 
Thankfully, you don’t do that. When everything’s done, Beomgyu gets up and ducks down to get the tray off your lap, and— much to the demise of your entire nervous system— you’re forced to look at his face in such a close proximity, that you hiccup and jump back into the headboard.
Beomgyu turns up to look at you, still hunched over you. “What?”
You clear your throat. “Th—thanks?”
His eyes are fixed. His nose scrunches a little before setting the tray back down and returning to his seat. “You look like shit.”
“Thank you, asshole,” you correct, getting riled up. He’s fucking smiling. Seriously, why is he being so normal? “Now, leave. I’m gonna wash up so I look less like shit.”
“Sure,” he laughs. “I’ll come get you at around four?”
You look up. “Why?”
“To take some pretty photos around the city.” He’s up again, tray in his hands to return to the kitchen. 
“Why?” you continue to squint at him.
“Why not? I didn’t bring the camera at the party because some of the guys might’ve used it as a ping pong ball, so I wasn’t able to take any photos for the new year. But it’s still the first day of the year today. Let’s go make the most out of it.”
Cheesy as hell, but you’re already all dressed and ready to go out when he barges into your apartment again. He makes an impressed holler upon seeing you, saying that you look like a human being again, and you land a kick on his shin before locking up your door, Choi Beomgyu trailing behind you with an anguished yelp.
It’s late afternoon, the streets of downtown Seoul are uncharacteristically free. Most are probably still behind the shutters, nursing their post-new year’s hangover. Some are probably back in their hometowns for the holidays. You and Beomgyu trail down the walkway. Your hands are stuffed into your pockets, him holding up the digital camera to his chest while he whips his head around, probably looking for a pretty scene to capture. You laugh, racing up your steps as you walk ahead of him. “Pick up the pace, loser,” you call out, turning half-around to provoke him with a snicker.
Your lips quirk just in time for the sound of a click to stop your backwards walk. Beomgyu has the camera up to his face. He puts it down, grinning. 
“Hey!” You’ve halted in your steps, stomping down a single foot. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Like I said.” Beomgyu hums and looks down at the shot he just took, a satisfied look on his face upon inspection before flicking his eyes back up to you. “Taking pretty photos. Let’s go near the crosswalk. I think a shot would be nice there.”
You thought you were just going to accompany him on this excursion but somehow, you got roped into being a subject in the countless photos he’s taking. On the sidewalk. By a tree in the park. In the arcade. In the middle of walking into the facade of a cafe. Most of his shots are taken without warning, causing you to throw a mini-tantrum immediately after the taunting sound of the shutter. But all he does is laugh and shield the camera from you, assuring you that you look fine, that it’s pretty, that you guys should hurry off because the evening is nearing, and you’d just have to huff and and surrender and move on, else he’d notice the warmth on your cheeks and the stirring in your stomach.
“Ah, I want to try the mocha cake.”
“Then order it?”
“Now, I don’t want to because you’re telling me to.”
“You’re ten years old.”
“Nyenye, you’re ten years— hi! We’d like an iced matcha latte, iced americano, and a coffee mocha cake, please. Dine in, yes. Thanks.”
The things he’s always done that seemed so, so natural that you never even put a second thought to them suddenly linger in the forefront of your thoughts. The way he puts his lips on your straw even though you know he hates matcha just to annoy you. The way your hands rest on the table, his fingers tapping on your knuckles while droning on a rant about some game you don’t even know the name of. The way he naturally brushes a crumb off your face, shares a dessert with you, holds up the last bit of cake and icing on the fork in front of your mouth for you to have. Really, nothing has changed. Nothing has, but it feels like your entire life just got turned upside down thanks to the event of last night— of which neither of you are even addressing.
You still show up to each other’s places unannounced. You still go to 7-Eleven ice cream runs at three in the morning. You still shove your face into his arm while watching horror movies and screaming bloody murder, but nothing happens beyond that. 
Not once have you brought up the conversation you had under the table at the strike of the new year. Not even after a month has passed since then. 
It’s now the beginning of February, and you’re on campus to register for your classes next month. While there, you’re forced into the coding club room by the pest named Lee Heeseung. He rattles into your ear on the way there, talking about how they’re currently polishing the game they submitted to TXT Inc. (Which won. He never fails to emphasize that). When you get there, you’re jumped by three more boys wanting you to try out the said winning game. 
“C’mon, just give it a shot!” Hyunjin bulldozes you into the computer corner.
“We’ll walk you through!” Yeonjun chimes in right after. 
“I’m not— I’m not interested in your—” Jeongin sits you down on the seat. Heeseung is covering your path to escape. Yeonjun and Hyunjin are on the other side. God damn it. Where’s Hanbin? Where’s the only normal person here? Heeseung is messing with keyboard and mouse, the screen immediately loading, and you’re greeted by what appears to be a first person shooter game that honestly looks...pretty good? Wow. They actually worked hard on this. 
“What are you guys doing?”
All five of you turn your heads back to the door. It’s Beomgyu. He’s got a backpack on him, which he tosses off to the sofa before walking up to your huddle. “Great! You’re here!” Hyunjin welcomes him in. Beomgyu finds a spot in between Heeseung and Jeongin, curious eyes glancing down at you. “We’re trying to get her to play our game!”
“Oh?” Beomgyu hums, leaning down against the back of your chair. “Sounds fun. Go ahead. I want to see this too.”
Do they enjoy fucking with you this much? Is this their favorite hobby? For some reason, clicking start is making you more nervous than you expected. Your hand is literally shaking on the mouse and you can hear Heeseung snorting at the way your other hand is positioned on the keyboard. “I hate all of you,” you announce, the stage loading. “I really hate all of you.”
“This is gonna be fun,” Jeongin assures from behind you. “The controls are simple. You just—”
“No, let her figure things out by herself.”
“Okay, it’s start—”
“Go, go, go! Run! Start shooting!”
“What?! Shoot what?!”
“The enemies! No, no, you’re going the wrong way don’t—”
“What is this?! What’s going on?!”
“Oh my god, this is hilarious.”
“Am I dead? Is it over?”
“Dude,” Heeseung lurches over, laughing and wheezing. “You’re so bad. You suck.”
Beomgyu is also laughing with them. You give him a side-eye. He immediately shuts up, clearing his throat, but obviously still smiling in avid amusement. “Let’s try that again,” he says. “I’ll help you this time.”
He cracks his knuckles, teiling Jeongin to scoot over so he’s the one directly behind you now. No, you don’t want to try again. You start turning around, but are immediately stopped with a quiet squeak because Beomgyu leans forward, pushing the office chair further into the desk, and you stiffen when his arms stretch out to cage you in. “What—what are you doing?” you sputter. 
“These guys aren’t gonna leave you alone until you finish a level,” he simply says. His hands rest over yours on the keyboard, on the mouse. He’s pressed up against your upper back, your shoulders. He’s way too fucking close. 
“Awh. This is way less fun.”
At this point, your eyes aren’t even registering the screen, and Beomgyu is basically playing the game himself. The shooting noises and fighting sounds from the speakers run dull. Dizzy. You feel dizzy. “Nice! Good job,” he says. His low voice is a rumble right into your ears. “Hey, you’re doing it. Nice shot.”
You shoot up, nearly headbutting him in the process.
“What’s up?”
“Restroom,” you squeak out. “I need to go to the restroom.”
The cold splash of water against your face is very effective. You’re at the restroom, hands gripping the edges of the sink as you stare at your drenched face at the mirror. There are things that you can’t ignore anymore. You two should address what’s up as soon as possible. Otherwise, you’re going to go insane.
“Choi Beomgyu.”
Not now, though. You...you just haven’t gathered enough courage yet to talk to him about it yet.
“Pass me the pillow.”
Right now, you’re on your living room floor, the aftermath of your takeout lunch on the coffee table, and Beomgyu grabs a cushion from behind him on the couch and pats it down onto your laps, eyes glued to your laptop screen, a dog grooming YouTube video playing.
There’s still a little bit less than a month before the semester starts. Beomgyu is supposed to leave for Daegu in a bit. The Chois have a family event back home, and they invited you as well, but you promised to accompany Jung Sungchan for a seminar later this afternoon, so you had to decline. Beomgyu’s brother is in the city, so he doesn’t have to drive or commute all the way there. He’s gonna get picked up in like, thirty minutes, so he decided to wait around and loiter at your place for the time being.
The entire time he’s been here, seemingly unbothered and unchanged even after the new year’s thing, you’ve been trying to get your shit together and just clear the air. What the fuck are you two now? Does he even remember what happened? Or is he just trying to sweep it under the rug? Is he overthinking about it just as much as you are right now? What the hell is going on?
“What are you thinking about?”
The video he’s watching has ended. His attention is now completely on you.
“Uh,” you stammer. “Yeon—Yeonjun seonbae is the only graduating student from the club, right?”
“Ah. Yeah,” he hums in affirmation. He twists his body a bit, crossed-legs slightly turned towards you, and he places an arm on the sofa seat, head resting on the knuckles of his hand. “The guys are planning on throwing a party this weekend to celebrate. To, you know, send him off.”
“He’s probably gonna end up crying again, isn’t he.” You attempt to dissuade your brain for now. 
“Oh, definitely,” he laughs. “We’re gonna set up cameras in the clubroom. He won’t be safe.”
Bzzt bzzt. The both of you look at his vibrating phone on the table, right next to your laptop. Beomgyu grunts in annoyance (and slight back pain), pulling himself up to grab the device. You silently watch while he takes the call. He looks so annoyed. You’d be making fun of him right now if your brain wasn’t in so much of a mess.
“Hyung,” Beomgyu whines into the phone. “What do you mean meet you at the gas station? That’s so inconvenient. Ugh, fine. What time are you gonna be there?” You shoot him a thumbs up. He pushes it down, hand enclosing the back of your fist, and he continues complaining into the phone. “Just text me before you start driving. Yeah, she’s here. Do you wanna say hi?”
He hands you his phone. You clear your throat and put it up to your ear with your free hand. “Hi, hyung, how have you been? Yeah, he’s at my place again. A freeloader— exactly!” Beomgyu squeezes your knuckles at that remark, visibly pouting and offended. You brush him off. “Ah, yeah. Sorry I can’t join you guys. Maybe next time, I’ll be able to—”
“Okay, that’s enough.” Beomgyu snatches the phone back. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll wait for you there. Bye, hyung. Later.”
The end of the call signals that you two should maybe start cleaning up. You throw out the boxes, wash the dishes and cups you used and tidy up the living room floor and couch. Beomgyu is grumbling the entire time, asking if you really have to attend the stupid seminar later. “I’m not gonna flake on my friends, Beomgyu.” You lean against the doorway with your arms crossed, seeing him out. He frowns. “You’re gonna be gone for three days right?” 
“Yeah,” he responds, audibly deflated. 
A huff of air blows past your lips. Three days. You should just talk to him once he gets back. “Have you packed already? Need any help?”
“No, I already took care of everything last night.”
“Wow,” you laugh, impressed. “That’s so unlike you. You’re well prepared for once.”
Beomgyu doesn’t respond to your jab with the same energy. “I didn’t want to spend the entire morning packing when I can use it to spend a bit more time with you.” 
Instead, he decides to be sweet. Honest. 
You feel your rib cage rattle, your stomach stir. “O—oh,” you rasp out. “Um.”
“What’s with the look?” he laughs a little, taking a step forward. Your back is still pressed against the doorframe. Beomgyu’s arm reaches up further above your head, pushing himself closer. “I thought that much was obvious when I knocked at your door at nine in the morning.”
When you follow his gaze, you can tell that his eyes are tracing the lines on your lips, eyelids heavy. Your breath hitches in your throat. Shit. Oh my god. Is he going to kiss you? Is he leaning it to kiss you? You’re about to freak the fuck out and Beomgyu seems to notice that. He pulls back, allowing the air to circulate back into your lungs, and he lets out a sigh. 
His arm falls down to his side. “You can still take it back,” he says. You look at him, brows furrowed. What? Take what back? Beomgyu waits for you to answer, and when you don’t, he decides that it’s best to be more clear. “We can pretend like what happened on new year’s didn’t happen— uh, remain with what we’re used to if you’re not fine with this. If you think we’re better off as friends like we’ve always been, I don’t mind. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Oh. Oh. You weren’t ready to talk about this yet. You planned to talk about this three days later, but when did your plans ever work? Never. 
Beomgyu attempts a smile and starts heading back to his apartment. “We can talk more once I get back so you can think about it. I’ll go get my—”
“No, wait.”
You grab hold of his arm. Beomgyu turns back, surprised. 
“I’ve al—already been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking a lot.” Crap. Your throat is dry. You didn’t plan any of this. You weren’t expecting to say this to him right now at all. “What I’m saying is—”
Choi Beomgyu looks a little expectant. You suck in a sharp breath. This feels weird. It’s like there’s something jittering at the base of your stomach. Many things, fluttering all the way up to your ribcage and throat and causing your cheeks to flare up.
“We...we can give it a try.”
There. You said it. You finally fucking said it and you can breathe again. Your gaze focuses on Beomgyu, heart racing, and his expression is yet again indecipherable.
He takes a step towards you. Your nerves jolt when you feel his touch on the arch of your spine, pulling you in even closer. “You sure?” 
You let out a squeak. “Tech—technically, I was the one who asked you out, so shouldn’t I— shouldn’t I take responsibility…?”
Beomgyu takes a moment’s pause at your resolution. You’re nervous. You’re so nervous right now that you might have severely fucked up. He looks at you. He looks at you in a way that makes you want to avert your eyes, face flushed from the heat of the moment, only for him to release the tension with a big laugh, fully embracing you by the waist, and dropping his head down onto your shoulder before lifting it back up to look at you with a wide smile. “Yeah. Yeah, you should.”
This time, when he leans in again, doesn’t draw back midway. 
You feel his lips on yours and your eyes flutter wide open, heart rate spiking up and up and up until your lips part, him kissing you deeper, until you can’t keep them open anymore. Beomgyu’s hold around your waist loosens, one hand traveling up to the back of your head before it could collide with the doorframe when you stumble back as you lose the strength in your knees, and before you know it, you’ve got your hands tangled in his hair, dizzy and short-winded and making you think that this— this isn’t so bad.
He draws his lips back with a heavy exhale. “God,” he sighs out as the heat of his breath hits your skin. Your foreheads are pressed together, eyes hazy and cloudy when he leans in again, mumbling into your mouth, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”
The reverie ends when a jolt of self-consciousness hits you belatedly. Your hands travel down to his chest, barely pushing off in a surge of sudden panic. Your face is burning, your lips feel fuzzy, and Beomgyu looks both surprised and disappointed which makes the churning in your stomach even worse. “A—a—aren’t you supposed to go now?” you stutter out, still a little breathless. Holy shit. That just happened. 
“You’re right,” Beomgyu responds. “I should go now.” But his body language isn’t showing any signs of leaving. You wait for him to budge. He doesn’t.
Somehow, you manage to push him off you and finally drag him out of the building with his backpack in tow, much to his whines and protests. His brother has been endlessly calling him with all calls left unanswered except for this one. “I’m going! I’m almost there.” He is not. He’s at the bottom steps of the apartment building. 
“Text me when you arrive,” you tell him, ready to head back inside. Beomgyu pockets his phone, looking more alive than ever and it’s annoying you a little.
“Mhm,” he hums in response. His eyes flicker down, debating whether or not to put whatever he’s thinking about with that into action, but decides against it and settles for a rough pat and a ruffle on your head instead, pressing out a small smile. “See you when I get back.” You wave him goodbye as he disappears out into the road. He sends you a text the moment he meets up with his brother.
It’s still a little awkward. You still can’t wrap your mind around this change after being nothing more than just two good friends for two decades. You’re just glad he isn’t trying to rush it. What doesn’t change is his incessantly annoying texts every goddamned hour throughout the three days he’s away. 
And indeed, you do see him when he gets back. He’s supposed to go shopping for the Yeonjun farewell party tomorrow anyway, so you decide to meet him at the station and just proceed to the store immediately after. When he departs from the train and sees you waiting amidst the crowd, he immediately comes rushing over like a puppy. Christ, Minjeong was right. 
Admittedly, you can’t get used to this yet. He’s always been touchy, but they’ve always been subtle. Devouring you into a bone crushing embrace to the point where all you can see and feel with your face is the fur of his jacket isn’t exactly subtle. The sounds of trains zipping, people chatting flood your senses. You quite frankly, cannot breathe. “Hey, chill out. It’s literally been only three days.”
“Bleh, whatever. Chill out, fuck off. Just let me have this.”
Your attempts to wrestle your way out of this good-natured suffocation is fruitless. You used to be able to push him around like nothing back in middle school. How far you have fallen.
“We still have errands to run,” you grunt out, managing to at the very least pop your head out from being smothered into his chest. He looks down at you, bitterly clicking his tongue and loosening his grip a bit. “Jeez, do you like me or something?”
That was supposed to be a joke. Beomgyu doesn’t find it very funny because he suddenly draws back, arms crossed and expression utterly exasperated. “Are you serious? Are you an idiot?”
“I was just pushing your buttons, stupid,” you shoot him a glare, taking advantage of your freedom to start walking ahead and out of the station.
“You’re stupid.”
There isn’t a day where Beomgyu doesn’t decide to irritate the crap out of you. He’s walking behind you. He’s stepping on the back of your shoes and bumping into you like a sixth grader. “Quit it!”
“Make me.”
He’s so annoying. He continues being annoying even at the event supplies stores downtown, where you’re picking up some streamers and party hats for tomorrow. You and he debate between hot pink and baby pink for the color theming. Rock paper scissors declare hot pink the winner and you get paper plates and cups in matching colors. “By the way,” Beomgyu starts, putting in two party poppers into the basket once you’re done loading up the utensils. “I met up with some of the guys from highschool yesterday. You know. Seungmin and Jimin. They were back in town for the holidays as well.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember them,” you respond, not very enthusiastically. The memory still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth like a permanent carpet burn. Beomgyu notices you shooting daggers at the innocent, inflated teddy bear balloon right in front of you. He tugs on your hand and leads you to the checkout counter before you can vent your temper at the poor balloon. “Anyway, how are they? Did you guys hang out?”
“Same old. We hit up the PC room for old times sake,” he hums, waiting as the cashier buzzes your items. “Actually, our high school batch is apparently planning a small reunion or get together of some sorts here in Seoul. They’re asking if we wanted to attend too.”
Well. You don’t exactly want to mingle with a bunch of kids that you weren’t even close with back then. And your social battery is already beyond depleted and has had no chance of ever getting a full recovery after all the events from December to January.
You mull it over while the counter finishes bagging your things. The both of you decide to make a pitstop at a nearby cafe. After ordering, you two pick a table on the outside porch because the weather is nice out. Beomgyu drags the metal chair from across so that he’s sitting next to you. Again, Kim Minjeong might’ve been onto something when she called him a puppy with severe attachment issues. The server comes by with your order. Your caffeine intake has been atrocious so you opted for a lychee drink instead, and he settles with a regular latte. Beomgyu hums out a tune while stirring his coffee, playfully hooking his opposite leg with yours underneath the table.
“About the reunion thing,” you chime up. “Will Chaeryoung be there?” 
“How should I know,” he grimaces after trying out your drink. At this point, you think he’s faking it. “She’s your friend, not mine.”
He just keeps pushing your buttons today. “Hey, jerk.” You snatch back the drink from under his chin, visibly provoked. “Why have you gotten even more annoying now that we’re— we’re. We’re—”
Your initial attitude is immediately gone. You choke on your words, one left unsaid because at this point it’s still a little fucking embarrasing, especially with how Choi Beomgyu’s is eyeing you with a shit eating expression while taking a sip from his coffee.
“Now that we’re what?” he hums in provocation, smiling that annoying smile of his with twinkling eyes. “C’mon. Say it.”
“Fuck you, nevermind—”
“No, I want to hear this! Now what we’re what?” Suddenly, he’s twisting over his chair to directly face you. You groan and quickly jerk away when you notice he’s enjoying this a little too much. You seriously want to sock him in the face. “Do you want me to stop being annoying? Hey! Hey, look at me!”
You let out a squeak when you feel his palms on your warm cheeks, turning your head to face him in bewilderment and you panic and hold onto your chair. “What the hell are you—”
“Tell me,” he interrupts. “What do you want me to do?”
This bastard wants to kill you via heart failure. Any ability to speak coherently has completely left your body.. “I, uh, well—”
“Hm?” he touts even further. “What was that?”
You hate him. You hate him so much. You want to hide and bury your face into the ground, and he’s just visibly laughing at you like a sick freak.
Beomgyu finally releases his hold on your face to snatch both of your hands instead. He pulls them towards his chest, but his eyes remain on you, the sheer amusement never leaving his gaze. “Do you want me to be sweeter?” he hums, tracing his thumbs over your knuckles before pressing a light kiss in between the narrow gap. “I can do that.”
His eyes are still trained on you, almost taunting.
“Baby?”
Then the sun spits on your face and you feel the primal instinct to book it and run away.
“Sweetie?” He tugs you forward, pulling your forearms into his chest, just in time for him to land a peck on your nose. “Darling?”
But you can’t run away. No. Because Choi Beomgyu has you hostage while he attacks you with an onslaught of cringey endearments and butterfly kisses on the face to remind you that he is, in fact, strong now, and you can’t do anything about it. Had you known he was going to torment you like this, you should’ve just taken it all back.
“Ow! Why are you hitting me, I’m just doing what you wanted me to do— ow! Then again, dipshit does suit you better than—ow! This is assault!” 
“You’re assault!” you screech out, finally managing to retrieve your bearings and you immediately cross your arms over the table, next to your barely touched lychee drink, and bury your face, never to see the light of day ever again. You hear Beomgyu having the time of his life next to you, laughing like an asshole. You send a blind kick in his direction. It hits. His cackling stops and he makes another pained noise.
“Hey, look, I’m sorry,” you hear him say. Then you hear the squeak of the chair, a bump on your elbow, and you peek out to see him laying his head on his crossed arms on the table as well, facing you. “I was just happy to see you again.”
You stare at him. How the fuck are you supposed to keep protesting when he’s being like this. “Beomgyu, you were gone for three days.”
“Three days too long,” he whines, muffling himself into his sleeves. “I’m with you every single day. I was suffering from withdrawals especially when my parents and your parents kept asking me why I didn’t bring you this year.” He tosses his head back up, suddenly looking at you with narrowed eyes and petulantly pursed lips. “And to think that when I got back, all I’ve been getting are swears and punches and rejection and— ah, my heart is wounded. I won’t ever recover from this. Never, ever, not even in a million— mmph!”
Choi Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, the tips of his fingers lifted up to his slightly parted mouth after you’d just shot up to shut up his never ending yapping by kissing him. There’s a heavy blush on his cheeks and even though yours are a little warm too, the corner of your lips involuntarily quirk upward. Holy shit. So, this is how it feels to be on the attacking end. Choi Beomgyu, you can eat shit and die. “Hah. Two can play it that game, fuckf—”
“Oh my god?!”
Your victory is cut short. Your blood runs cold. You should’ve remembered that you’re on the outside deck of a cafe right now, where people can just freely pass by and see you. You two are, in fact, seen, not just by any people. 
With the creaks of hesitance in your joints, you turn to the sound of the very appalled, very alarmed, very familiar voice. There, you see Kim Minjeong and Sung Hanbin standing with shopping bags, some of which have fallen on the floor, all of which are for what you assume is Yeonjun’s farewell party. The former looks at you in horror. The latter is just smiling and waving. “What the fuck did I just see?” Minjeong croaks out. “Tell me, what the fuck did I just see?”
“I—I can explain!” you quickly sputter out. You turn to Beomgyu for help, but the fucker is still lost in a lovestruck daze. Oh my god. You want to die.
“Congratulations,” Hanbin happily remarks. You want to die very much. Maybe at the hands of Minjeong because she’s marching up the deck and her eyes are on fire. 
Somehow, you manage to smooth things over. You fill them in with what happened on new year, and Minjeong says she saw this coming but still can’t accept it because you’re way too good for Beomgyu, which snaps him out of it and they get into a squabble. “So you approved of Jang Seung but not me?!” Hanbin is all smiles, though, and he promised to keep it a secret from the rest of the coding club guys for now because you don’t even want to imagine what would happen if they find out. Heeseung especially. Oh god. It’s going to be a disaster.
The disaster comes not even twenty-four hours later, at Yeonjun’s farewell party. 
Most of the morning, you all spend the time to decorate the clubroom and set up all the cameras to record Yeonjun’s inevitable sobfest. Hot pink and white streamers are hung around and about. There are balloons on the wall spelling CONGRATULATIONS, Y3ONJUN! because there weren’t any letter E’s available. The boxes of pizza and chicken arrive. Jeongin walks in with a cake. You’re all decked out in party hats and birthday trumpets while waiting for the man of the hour to arrive.
“Pink or brighter pink?” Beomgyu asks, holding up the two cones for your perusal. You’re both wedged in a corner in the room, slightly detached from the rest of the group scuttling by the door.
“First one,” you hum, and he draws the string down, tapping the cone cap on the crown of your head while he slowly lets go of the string once it’s set underneath your chin. Beomgyu takes a step back, examining his work, before nodding into a satisfied smile and putting his own party hat on himself.
He’s. He’s so dumb. You brush off a smile with the shake of your head, and in doing so you inadvertently lock eyes with Heeseung, who seems to have witnessed the entire exchange and is now squinting at you— like he’s trying to understand something. Clearing your throat, you look away before he can take your eye contact as an invitation to talk, and Heeseung is just about to approach when the clubroom door clatters open, a series of party poppers go off, confetti shoots out, right in time for Yeonjun to step in, eyes wide in half-fear, half-surprise.
“Wh—whoa, what? Hey, what’s going on?”
In a matter of seconds, things escalate. Congratulations are yelled out. Some happy birthdays (whatever makes them happy). The pink graduation cake is released. It takes a moment for Yeonjun to let it all sink in, and when it does, the boys’ predictions are ultimately proven correct because he tries to play it off that he’s definitely, absolutely not crying (he is). 
They laugh at him, make fun of him, and group hugs are shared. It’s all very silly and very cute. You’re on photo taking duty until Hyunjin pulls you into their mess of limbs and yelling and sobs until you’re finally able to wiggle out back into your corner. 
Beomgyu returns to your corner with a slice of cake on a paper plate, two forks, and a dollop of icing on the tip of his nose. 
“Is that a new look you’re trying?” you laugh, taking one of the forks on the plate.
“What are you talking about?” His brows are furrowed. You tap on your nose. Beomgyu mirrors your movement, still confused until he feels the smudge of icing, and he draws his hand away with disgust. “God damn it. Jeongin, that rat.” Despite his desire for revenge, Choi Beomgyu doesn’t leave the corner. He stays there with you, watching all the rest of the boys making a mess as you share your cake, plucking off a crumb from the corner of your mouth while you wheeze at Heeseung trying and failing to pin the tail on the Yeonjun-donkey. 
“Idiot, to your left! Left! That’s not your—”
“Hey, hold still for a sec—”
“Are you directionally— oh!”
Lee Heeseung rips off his blindfold— ready to whine at you— but that intention immediately simmers down to something else when he snaps his head just in time for him to witness Beomgyu touching your face and getting away with it unscathed. You jolt. Heeseung’s eyes are narrowed at you. “Hey, what’s going—”
“We got a noise complaint! ICT publication from next door!”
“Ugh, party poopers.”
“Choi Beomgyu, go deal with it.”
Thank god for that interruption. The man in question doesn’t seem as happy about it, though. “What? Why me?” he groans in protest. You see Heeseung pause mid-stride towards the both of you.
“Because we need someone with charisma to make sure we don’t get in trouble and Yeonjun hyung is useless right now.” Hyunjin reasons. Cut to Yeonjun who’s still sobbing his eyes out at the paper roll of messages you guys wrote for him. He really is useless. Beomgyu sees the waterworks and lets out another grunt.
“Ugh.” Pouting, Beomgyu turns back to you, handing you the plate and finishing it off by messing up your hair. “I’ll be right back.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Quit acting like you won’t miss me, meanie.”
You stick your tongue out. Beomgyu rolls his eyes and heads off with Hyunjin outside to deal with the complaint, hooking the latter by the neck with his arm. You’re about to finish up your cake when Heeseung replaces Beomgyu’s spot. You nearly choke on the damn thing when he suddenly bolts up saying, “Hey. Why the fuck are you two acting so weird?”
“Jesus fucking—” you cough. “What the hell are you talking about?”
The look of suspicion never leaves Heeseung’s face. You can feel it— cold sweat breaking. Shit. Is this it? Is this the end of your peace and quiet? “Beomgyu has been all up in your space since we started preparing and at this point, you would’ve sworn at him at least two dozen times already,” he starts. “I haven’t heard your unrecyclable mouth utter even a shit or damn. There hasn’t even been any bickering and it’s freaking me out.”
Of all times, why does he decide to be perceptive now? You can’t even muster up a response. Thank god he’s a yapper because he fills in the silence himself.
“Well, whatever,” Heeseung simply shrugs. “I guess that’s a good thing because my ears are spared from your potty mouth just for today.” 
He’s perceptive but not sharp. Today, you are saved. “Go suck a dick.”
“That’s the spirit. Back to normal.” Your friend grins and gives you a thumbs up. You shoot him a glare and he blocks your punch with his palm. “But did something happen? The vibe between you and he is a little different. How do I put it?” You struggle to remove your fist from the bastard’s grip, but he doesn’t let you budge while he continues to ponder. “It’s like you’re a couple of high schoolers who just started dating or some shit, haha. Something like that.”
You rip your hand away and press it close to your chest.
“Yo, what’s with the face?”
Turns out, your good for nothing friend has been speaking a little too loud that it’s gotten quiet. Quiet in anticipation because everyone in the room is looking at you right now— including Beomgyu, who’d just gotten back with Hyunjin after their successful mission. “Whoa, what’s going on?” Hyunjin asks. You gulp. You look at Beomgyu, who’s a little taken aback by what’s going down. Oh, you’re so fucking screwed.
“Wait, why aren’t you denying it?”
How could you when Choi Beomgyu is looking straight at you? Sure, you don’t want them to find out, but you don’t have the heart to deny it and make Beomgyu upset, either! You remain quiet for five, sixe seconds— several seconds too late because they construe your silence as a yes, and Heeseung’s eyes start beaming, and it gets loud again, and your face is starting to grow way too hot for you to handle
“Oh my god? Oh my fucking god? Oh my god, my biggest wish is finally happening— guys! Guys!”
That’s it. It’s over. It’s all over. The news spreads like wildfire, but it’s all Heeseung’s hearsay until a confirmation comes out from either of you two’s mouths. Heeseung is shaking you by the shoulders. Yeonjun is crying even more. Hanbin is watching everything with a smile and he sends you an assuring thumbs up, but you don’t feel assured at all. From the corner of your eye, you can also see Beomgyu getting assaulted. He’s got Hyunjin and Jeongin yelling at him from both sides. He looks like he’s getting a migraine.
“Is it true?! Did you two really decide to date?”
“No way! Not with how adamantly she’s been against—”
“Wait, this isn’t our business, we shouldn’t—”
“Who asked who out? C’mon, you gotta tell us!”
Despite it all, Beomgyu’s usually loud mouth remains quiet. He says nothing to them. Instead, he meets eyes with you from across the room— a cock of his head, a slight raise of his brow as if to say just give me the signal, what do you want me to do? 
You feel as though you’ve already been asking him for too many favors this year. You suck in a sharp inhale, and, while ignoring Heeseung’s vigorous shaking of your person, answer Hyunjin’s question in his stead. “I did,” you said. “I asked him. On new year’s. Under the table.”
Heeseung suddenly freezes. You squeeze your eyes shut and look down, cheeks burning. Then you hear a scream.
“You?! You?!”
“This is crazy. What the fuck, I don’t believe it.”
“I knew it! I knew something big happened then! Gosh, I fucking knew it!”
“You were barely conscious then, how could you know—”
“About time, really.”
“Hey, I’m so happy for you two,” Yeonjun suddenly saunters up to you, eyes red and threatening to spill again. He sniffles and pulls you into a hug. “I’m just so...so—”
And your shoulder is wet. You give him a few pats on the bag as you watch Beomgyu fed off his rabid fans from jumping him while he attempts to move closer to you. He manages to succeed by announcing that he needs to talk to you in private and then go crazy. He doesn’t succeed as much in prying Yeonjun off of you, though. You’re both suffocated in a group hug and best wishes from the soon-to-graduate club member. 
“Hey, I hope none of you have forgotten who this party is actually for,” you raise in the hopes of dissuading the situation. Which works. Somehow. You’re in no position to question a blessing from the skies.
“Sideshow over! Time to watch the message video—”
“Where’s the cord? Whose laptop are we using again?”
“Hey, nobody leaves until we clean everything up! Jeongin, I’m looking at you.”
Regardless, Heeseung wouldn’t leave you alone until you fess everything up to him. Even after the party, he kept texting and calling you to tell him the how, what, where, and why. Mostly because he wanted to confirm that he has all the credit of introducing you both through that blind date. It was very funny to see his entire world shatter when you told him that you and Beomgyu had known each other since forever. He stopped bothering you after that and decided it’s not fun anymore to tease you.
Unfortunately, the rest of his club members haven’t tired themselves out yet. When Beomgyu told them he wasn’t gonna join their night out this weekend because you guys had the high school reunion thing he mentioned to you the other day, they refused to believe him and that he was just making an excuse to spend time with you. You owe Hwang Hyunjin a punch to the gut. He must’ve forgotten that there was a reason he was scared of you the first time you met.
Anyhow, those headaches are set aside because you have a different headache to deal with— that is, the impending hell of meeting your high school classmates again. You contacted Chaeryoung the other day, asking if she’s also attending and she responded with a sudden call, which turned into a two-hour catching up session. Needless to say, you have no choice but to show up now. 
It’s the day of, and you’re getting ready inside the bedroom apartment. There’s soft music humming through the turntable Beomgyu gave you as a Christmas gift, loaded with the record you bought last month. It’s the same song he played onstage two months ago. The room is dimmed, the bronze ceiling light the only thing illuminating the walls, floor, the bedsheet you’re sinking into and the mess of makeup items scattered about, as well as Choi Beomgyu’s face that’s inches away from yours— a focused look of concentration etched on his pursed lips as he brings up a brush up to your cheekbone.
“Hey, stop that! It tickles!” you laugh, albeit unwillingly, as you swat his hand away. “If you mess up I’m gonna have to wipe my entire face off and start over.” You feel your phone vibrating next to your hand that’s pressed into the mattress. Must be from Chaeryoung. You look down to grab it, but Beomgyu taps on the side of your jaw, lifting your face up to look at him.
“Who cares? We’re already late anyway.” His brows are all knitted up in concentration, wielding your lipstick wand like it’s a scalpel and he’s about to perform open heart surgery. Why is he taking this so seriously? He barged in while you were putting on makeup earlier and bragged that he could actually be pretty good at this, and you egged him on to prove it. So far, he’s been all talk, sweating after tapping on barely any product on your cheeks with your blush brush. “Stay still, dipshit. Unless you want to end up looking like a clown.”
“I’ll kill you if you mess up.”
“Then maybe shut your mouth for a sec.”
“Nyeye, then maybe shut your mouth for a—”
“Shush! I’m concentrating!”
You muffle down a laugh, seeing him try so hard. You can see the sweat bead trailing down his forehead as he lifts up your chin with one hand and now brings a shade of lipstick to your lips with the other. There’s a jitter of hesitation the moment you feel the product brush against your lips— a light press and a pause. You look up at his eyes but he’s not looking at yours. And then you watch as Beomgyu’s takes a deep breath while clumsily applying the product in a rush, mumbling something you can’t quite hear under his breath, and he twists the wand back into its container before tossing it onto your bed.
“What was that?” you ask, grabbing his wrist before he could retreat. You can see him even under this dim light. You can see just how red his ears are. You fight back the urge to laugh and make fun of him outright. You need a different strategy to win against him. “What did you say?”
Beomgyu is still not looking at you. He’s not fighting against your grip, but the heat has traveled down to his neck as he continues to look away. “I said pretty,” he coughs out, then repeats, “your lips are pretty.” Your grip loosens. He takes this as an opportunity to peek at you once more. Which proves to be the wrong move. “No, your entire face is pretty. What the hell? How am I supposed to make fun of you now? This is pissing me off.”
You don’t recall giving him any blush, but Choi Beomgyu is blushing red when he stomps out of your room in a fit. You’re flustered yourself, but your annoyance and confusion overtakes any other emotion as you quickly gather your purse and phone and wallet to catch up to him and his sudden tantrum.
“Now, why the fuck would that piss you off, you dick?!”
You’re both in your living room now. Beomgyu is throwing on his coat when he snarks back, “See! Because it doesn’t match your vulgar mouth and nasty personality!”
“You talk as if you’re any better than me, fuckface.” Somehow, you’re both on your way out now, walking down the hallway and down the stairs to the lobby as your…civilized conversation continues. “In fact, your mouth is way worse than mine.”
“Lies!” he barks back. You’re both out of the building now. “Statistically speaking, you swear exponentially more times than me.”
“You failed our statistics and probability final in ninth grade. Don’t get smart with me. And should I show you the voice recordings Heeseung sends me whenever you two are playing a game? Your mother would cry if she heard them.”
“I can’t believe you’re using my own strategy against me.” Now, you’re walking to the parking lot and even while he’s ranting, Beomgyu manages to lead you right to his car. “And mind you, those are exceptional circumstances. In general and on average, you are the worst offender of all. There isn’t a day where you don’t tell me to fuck off or eat shit, and I’m not the only victim. There’s Heeseung. There’s Sungchan. There’s—”
His throat holds his words hostage. You are being held hostage in between him and his car when he leans in to open the passenger door for you, hand already on the handle, but Beomgyu remains unmoving. His lips are pressed tightly, together and a wrinkle creases the space between his eyebrows.
Then, he breathes out a swear.
“Dammit.”
His grip leaves the door, cups your cheeks, and lunges in for a kiss like a crazy person.
The first moment, you’re shocked and wide-eyed and wondering what the fuck is this idiot trying to pull. The next moment, you find yourself getting swept up in his insanity, wide eyes fluttering close with your arms around his neck, securing another five minutes of tardiness to the event, and the five minutes end with his exhaled breaths warming up your lips amidst the cold evening. “I swear to god, Choi Beomgyu,” you grunt, barely shoving him away. What was the point of his whole make-up guru charade earlier? What was the point if he was gonna smudge it all off anyway? “There’s seriously something wrong with you.”
Your complaint is met by a pout and him retaliating by pulling you in with one arm, and his free hand finding its way to your face. “Is this your way of breaking up with me?”
He’s insufferable. “You wish.”
“No, I don’t,” is his quick reply. It almost made your heart stutter— even more so when he uses his thumb to wipe the corner of your lips with the disappointed click of his tongue. “Sorry I ruined your lipstick. I’ll fix it in the car.”
You smack his hand away, covering your face with the back of your hand. “It was ruined the moment you put it on!” You quickly whisk yourself into the car, finally. Beomgyu follows into the driver’s seat not long after, but not without yelling out his self-defense.
“Hey, I did a pretty good job! I just need a bit more practice!”
Sometime in the middle of the car ride, the argument fizzled out and got replaced by his playlist, and a conversation on when you’d be coming back home to Daegu before the semester starts since your mom wants to show off the new sofa set she bought. It’s very cozy, she says, with the only downside being the fact that it’s too cozy to the point that your dad’s evening naps have become more frequent.
It’s just mindless meandering on the way to the venue— a karaoke room at Grand Hyatt Hotel that you and the rest of your attending batchmates chipped in to book. Of the thirty students from your batch, twenty-three confirmed attendance including Beomgyu and yourself. Of the other twenty-one people, you’re only close with one of them.
Maybe your endless prattling about your mom’s new cushions and throw pillows to distract yourself from why you even volunteered yourself to attend. Maybe you’re just using Chaeryeong as an excuse to validate yourself and witness exactly how much you’ve and everyone else has changed since highschool in spite of your vocalized disinterest. 
“You good?” 
The car engine has stopped humming. The streetlight road has been replaced by a dim hotel parking lot, and you turn to see the dim image of Choi Beomgyu’s blurry face eyeing you in concern. You recall his initial surprise when you voiced out your intent on coming with him this evening. Not that he’d stopped you, but you figure even his dummy self could put your initial reservations, and the confession you dropped a few months ago when you made up after your fight. I’ve only been known as the girl who’s always been around you and nothing else. I doubt you noticed how people would only approach me because of you. 
It still makes you cringe whenever that memory would creep into your brain like a rat at two in the morning when you’re trying to sleep. Sure, things are different now, but you felt that way at a time when your world consisted of nothing more than your town back in Daegu, and eighty percent of your life was spent in high school. You’re stepping back into that world right now, where you’re nothing but Choi Beomgyu’s friend, acquaintance, something— never had been just yourself. 
And you know Beomgyu knows that this is exactly what you’re thinking about right now. Which is why he doesn’t get out of the car yet, and instead asks, “Do you wanna just ditch and go hang out somewhere else?”
You let out a laugh. He’s such a dork. “No way. Chaeryeong’s gonna sulk if I don’t see her today, and I could use a few drinks, you know.” You have no intention of stripping him the opportunity to hang out with his old friends again. You’ve seen how much his phone has been buzzing on the way here. Why does he have so many clingy male friends? You’ll never understand. Choi Beomgyu is just some guy.
That some guy stares at you for a bit as he mulls over your answer. “If you say so. But if you wanna leave early, just tell me.”
Seriously. It’s not like he treats them like this, for them to go crazy over hum. Then again, maybe this guy just has the inherent knack of drawing people in. You’ve been a witness of that phenomenon for the past two decades, and you’re witnessing it again tonight, counting down from the moment you two leave the car and enter the building, enter the karaoke lounge, and despite Choi Beomgyu (and you) interrupting an ongoing performance by Seungmin and Jimin on the machine, the response to his entrance is, quite frankly, a bit over the top.
“Look who’s finally here.”
“Man, what took you so long?”
“Woohoo! Time to get the party started!”
Neon lights are already lighting up the dim room. Beer bottles have already been cracked open on the tables. You watch as he gets whisked away by his old high school friend group, stifling your laughter because maybe Choi Beomgyu has changed because he looks a little overwhelmed and taken aback by the assault of attention. Surprisingly, it’s a very funny sight. He turns back to you while Jiwoong hooks him by the neck and ushers him into the lounge as if he’s asking for help. Which draws attention to you, obviously. His friends turn around. The first one to greet you is Seungmin. “Oh, hey!” he exclaims, leaning in for a quick half-hug. “It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”
“I’ve been stuck at the door for the past few minutes due to the traffic you idiots are causing, thank you very much for asking,” you respond after pulling back, smiling.
“You still have an attitude,” he snarks. “And you two are still joint at the hip. Did you arrive together?”
“Yup. I’m getting sick of him, so I’d appreciate it if you take him away from me now.”
“You can bet on it.”
Before Beomgyu could protest, he’s already been handed the mic and had been fed a shot glass. The rest of the guys follow suit in giving you quick greetings, how are you’s, how have you been’s. You still haven’t seen Chaeryeong around so you shoot her a text. She responds with exclamation marks and the text, [WAIT A SECOND. BATHROOM. BE THERE IN A BIT], and she emerges through the door not long after to greet you with the gift of suffocation. “Oh my god, I missed you so much,” she wheezes out. “Why haven’t we made plans even once since starting uni? I know we talked a bit last time but how have you been? Has Choi Beomgyu been treat—”
You prompt shut her mouth with your hand. You did keep her posted over the phone last time, but you don’t intend on sharing the status update between you and Choi Beomgyu to your whole class that had been under the assumption that you’ve been together, anyway. It’s none of their business— and definitely not the business of the girl that had been staring at you the whole goddamn time since you arrived here.
Among the twenty-one people that came today is Haena. Haena, the girl that invited you to hang out with her friends for coffee around a year ago. Haena, the girl who kept grilling you about your relationship with Beomgyu, just to ask if you could help her get together with him. Haena and her friends, Bora and Seohyun, who’d been drilling holes into the back of your head for the past fifteen or so minutes. Last you’ve heard of her, she’s studying nursing at DSU. 
You’ve never told Beomgyu about the little incident because it never escalated into anything more than dirty looks in the hallway and the classroom and the proliferation of gossip about you and Choi Beomgyu. And since nearly a whole year had passed, you were hoping that that was all water under the bridge now, but apparently it’s not. Jesus, what does she want?
“Okay, okay, let’s stop the singing for now since everyone’s already here and raise our drinks up! To the class of 20XX!”
You’ve no intention of letting that bother the rest of your night. Yet Haena wasn’t the only bitter aftertaste of that period of your life. An hour or so into the evening, you get out of the karaoke lounge to get a breather in the lobby. Choi Beomgyu is still trapped inside thanks to his ten million fanboys-slash-friends. Chaeryeong wanted to come with you but she got roped into a drinking game and has shown no signs of escaping. Which leaves you some time to recharge a bit before the inevitable agenda of reminiscence once everyone’s gotten a bit too drunk and loose-lipped.
On the way to the hotel lobby, you bump into Jiwoong— that guy, ex-crush, who rejected you in the rain two years back, maybe. So much for water under the bridge because just looking at him makes you feel mortified. He greets you with a nod and a smile before walking past you back into the lounge. God, that was an embarrassing moment. You shake your head and race into the hall leading up to the carpeted lobby.
Unfortunately for you, you weren’t the only one with the same idea.
There, sitting defeated and exhausted on one of the plush seats is Lim Jimin. Embarrassing encounter number two. He notices you. You two make eye contact. Fuck. Yes, you two exchanged awkward hello’s earlier, but seeing his face just makes you recount the humiliation you felt when you expected a confession from him.
“O—oh, hi.”
He’s the one that greets you first, and it sounds a lot more agonizing than if you’d been the one to do it. Did Choi Beomgyu say something to this guy? Why does he look just as uncomfortable as you?
“Uh, hey.” You quickly squeeze out a response. “It’s getting stuffy inside, right? Haha, enjoy your alone time. I’ll be doing the same outs—”
“W—wait!” The last thing you expected was for Jimin to say something to you. You preemptively stop walking, and the momentum causes you to jerk a bit, giving him the opportunity to jump off his seat and keep talking. “This…this is a bit long overdue, and this may sound stupid, but I feel like I owe you an apology.” 
An apology? Your brows furrow. You regain your balance, resting a hand on the backrest of the sofa beside you. “For what?”
He struggles a bit. “Um…do you remember when I asked you a favor last year? To convince Beomgyu to help me rank up in League?” You can feel the heat of embarrassment flushing your cheeks again. God dammit, why can’t he be like Jiwoong who just smiled and walked past you like nothing happened? “You stormed off after that, and I couldn’t help but feel really guilty that I did something wrong, but I couldn’t figure out why you’d be angry no matter how much I thought about it.”
Somehow, your hands find themselves covering your face, head down. “Ah,” you exhale a disgruntled breath, then force an inhale. You bring your head up. You look at the boy who’s looking guilty when he shouldn’t be. “You did nothing wrong, Jimin. I was just worked up that day and sort of lost my cool. I should be the one who’s sorry.” This is so ridiculous. At least with this, you think you can finally be over it. “Gosh. I can’t believe you’ve been stressing about that.”
Jimin brings his arms to a cross and rubs his palms against his sleeves, still looking down and sorry. “I felt really bad, okay? I really thought I said something wrong, especially to my friend’s girlfriend.”
You feel a twitch in your temple. Here’s another misunderstanding to clear. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to help you anyway. I wasn’t his girlfriend back then.”
This causes him to jolt his eyes up to look at you. “Huh? Really?” His widened eyes blink rapidly. “Back then? Then does that mean you’re—”
An interruption in the form of your name being called out arrives.
You turn your head back— back into the direction of the hall that led into the karaoke lounge. “Beomgyu,” you acknowledge, padding up to him upon his arrival. You figure he managed to listen in on the last part of that conversation, considering the fact he welcomes your arrival with a snug arm around you. Like Minjeong says, Choi Beomgyu acts like a puppy with attachment issues, but he hasn’t been committing any heinous acts of public affection the entire reunion event. You haven’t even said anything. He knows you a little too well. “What’s up? Got sick of all your friends’ love and attention already?”
“That’s one reason,” he grunts “But the guys wanted to gather everyone around for something. What were you two doing out here?”
The question seems to be pointed at Jimin, and the man in question struggles to come up with a response. You lightly elbow Choi Beomgyu. “We were just clearing up some misunderstandings,” you say, which Jimin echoes, and then you give Beomgyu a whispered reminder. “You know. The fake secret admirer incident last year. Looking back, that was also half your fault for planting ideas in my head.”
“Oh, yeah. That incident,” Beomgyu snorts upon recollection. “Damn. You never fail at being embarrassing.”
“Shut the fuck up.” You elbow him again. Less lightly this time. Telling him about the whole confession misunderstanding on your part will forever be one of the greatest regrets of your life. “Jimin, We’ll head in first.”
“Sure thing. Tell the others I’ll be there in a sec.”
With that, you shuffle back into the hallway, and upon getting closer to the lounge, Beomgyu slowly paces away a considerable distance between the both of you. The last thing he lets go of is his gentle hold on your wrist as he led you down the hallway. He used that same hand to open up the door, announcing your re-arrival— which elicits a different reaction from the first time you two arrived. “Oooh, here they are. The lovebirds are finally here.”
Even though they aren’t misunderstanding your relationship this time around, it still is really fucking annoying.
“C’mon, sit down, sit down! We’ve already started playing truth or dare while you guys were out. Where’s Jimin?”
It doesn’t feel right to deny it. “He’s still out.” But it doesn’t feel right to just let them keep goading you either. “Said he’ll join us later. If you ask any weird questions, I’m out.” 
“Lighten up! We’re all just curious to find out what everyone’s been up to this past year.” The two long tables in the venue have been pressed together to form one big square where everyone is sitting around. With Beomgyu following behind you and seated to your left, you take the spot Chaeryeong has been saving, quickly filling you in with the revelations you’d missed, but it’s hard to keep up with her once the group got the ball rolling again by spinning an empty beer bottle in the middle of the square time after time, round after round. 
You all found out Seungmin was the one who put fake cockroaches in the faculty office. Jimin joined the table after that round. Your poor friend Chaeryeong had to chug down a terrible excuse of a drink for refusing to answer a question. She’s now mumbling incoherencies into your shoulder as you watch the botte spin for the nth time— spinning, spinning, spinning, slowly losing speed until it ultimately stops and points at you.
“Alright, alright! Truth or dare?”
Well, shit.
“Ah. Truth, I guess,” you grant. You’ve already had enough embarrassing moments involving your high school cohort. You need not add another one, and considering how everyone’s interest about you revolves around Choi Beomgyu and Choi Beomgyu only, you figured that the poor idiot next to you should be more scared of the question than you in case his friends want to ask about his deepest, darkest secrets.
“Oh, there’s something I’d like to know!”
The person who decides that you should be the one on the chopping block is Kim Bora, who’s grinning at you from across the table, right in between Haena and Seohyun. Ah. You have a feeling where this is going. You suck in a deep breath and muster up all the patience in the world.
“How did you and Beomgyu manage to stay strong after all these years?”
Unfortunately, that amount of patience is very thin. Very thin indeed. Even more thinned out with the number of voices doubling, tripling it down.
“Oooh, I wanna hear too!”
“Yeah, what’s your secret, man? All my relationships end after three months, I feel like there’s something I’m doing wrong.”
“Tell us your secret!”
“What are you guys—”
That last voice came from Beomgyu, who you promptly stopped with the squeeze of his hand. Don’t say anything, don’t stop them, you say to him with narrowed eyes. He gives you a conflicted look, but he relents anyway, settling back down, but you can tell he’s worked up. Well, you just want to know how far they’re gonna take this. You want to know how much you can bite your tongue. You know you’ve always been prone to outbursts and impulse, but after all the shit you’ve been through these past two semesters, mindless, nose-digging gossip like this is nothing.
More than that, you want to know what this girl Haena is planning with how much she’s been giggling for the past minute and a half.  
“What are you saying, Bora? You’re so silly! Don’t you remember what we talked about with her before? They’ve never dated!”
And there it is.
“Huh?”
Haena’s statement drops a blanket of confused silence over the table. “What are you talking about?” one of your old classmates asks, and you want to echo the same sentiments because what exactly is she trying to achieve with this?
“C’mon,” Haena waves the silence off, still grinning, still sneaking glances at you. “You didn’t know? You guys were all being judgmental for assuming a boy and girl are dating just because they’re really close friends. Well, it’s not like they ever denied it. Oh, well but the truth is they were never dating. You two were never dating, right? Right?”
Ah. This is kind of pissing you off.
“Hey, that’s enough—”
Is this because you wouldn’t set her up with Beomgyu? Jesus, isn’t she over that already? Is she trying to frame you as some attention-seeker who thrived off the misunderstanding that you and your childhood friend have something more going on? Well, too bad. You’ve already been branded as a cheater and a whore. This is so juvenile that it’s starting to prick at the patience you’ve worked so hard to build up.
“Damn, seriously? So I stopped myself from confessing over nothing? If you two weren’t dating, how come neither of you said a thing?”
“That’s what I’m saying! Kinda crazy that they just let everyone misunderstand!” 
“Jesus, why are we even talking about this?” Seungmin attempts to dissuade the conversation, but the misfortune that comes after is Jimin accidentally adding fuel to the fire by letting slip the information you’d shared to him just moments ago.
“Right? Why does it even matter if they were dating or not back then? What’s important is that they’re both happily dating now!”
Another blanket of silence mops the table.
At this point, you just wanna go home.
“Ha!” A noise of disbelief rips out of Haena’s throat as sneers at you from across. “I can’t believe this! You kept saying and acting like you weren’t interested in him when you’d end up taking the opportunity, anyway! Wow, you acted so high and mighty back then, bragging that you didn’t have any feelings for him as if it made you better than the rest of us. If it’d end up like this, you should’ve just hooked up and gone after him ages ag—”
“For fuck’s sake, I’ve heard enough.”
The table rattles. Your eyes widen, snapping up to your left to see Choi Beomgyu who had stood up, who— for the first time in the years you’ve known him— looks mad. Angrier than when you two fought last year. Angrier than you think you’d ever been, even with your horrid short-temper.
His knuckles are tight. He’s seething. You’re too caught off guard to react in time and stop the damage he intends on making.
“Seriously. Why the fuck do you keep running your mouth about something that’s completely out of your business?”
It’s not only you. It seems that everyone is surprised to find the always easygoing, always friendly and outgoing Choi Beomgyu suddenly acting like this— acting like this on your behalf. “So what if we started dating? What’s it to you? What’s it to any of you?” You’re stunned. He draws his fingers to his hair. He shakes it off with an incensed breath. “Jesus christ. If you guys aren’t interested in talking about anything else other than our relationship, then I guess the both of us should just leave so that you can gossip more, yeah? Enjoy the rest of the damned night, assholes.”
When his head drops and his eyes make contact with yours, his gaze immediately softens. Let’s go, he mouths with a smile. You feel a lump in your throat. Beomgyu whisks you away before you can even acknowledge it.
“Whoa, that was scary.”
“Was he always like this?”
“You were the ones who crossed the line. What were you guys thinking?”
At some point, Beomgyu has completely dragged you out of the karaoke lounge, out of the hall, out of the hotel lobby, and into the dimly lit parking lot with nothing but a handful of streetlights illuminating the chalky pavement. You hadn’t even realized you’d been running until he stopped underneath the dancing particles of the ilt-up post, brightening up the empty parking space right next to his car. You hadn’t even realized you’d been catching your breath until he points it out for you
“Seriously, what the hell was wrong with people? Why can’t everyone just mind their own business and leave us—” The tempo of his rant fizzles out immediately. Beomgyu bites down a frown and pulls you in, brushing through the unkempt strands of your hair from the wind. “Sorry, was I running too fast? I just wanted to get you out of there as quickly as I can.”
Choi Beomgyu had confronted your old inhibitions on your behalf. He’d done the same thing with Jang Seung last semester. He’d done the same with his former friends that were talking shit about you and even got into a fight because of it. And it seems like the same thing is going to happen now.
It’s always him who does things for you. He was the one who took the first step in your reconciliation last year. He was the one who’d always put the entirety of his soft, tender feelings into the palm of his hands and handed them off to you without even expecting anything in return. 
Maybe it’s about time for you to do the same.
Maybe it’s about time for you to confront the one thing you’ve been confining in the back of your mind for god knows how long.
“Beomgyu.”
It’s always been there— since you were, what? Fourteen? Sixteen? Since he’d made you watch that stupid scary movie in middle school and your heart jumped out of your ribcage for the first time and all you could do was hold onto him for your dear life while you screamed bloody murder? You don’t know when these kind of thoughts started entering your head, but you never dwelled on them knowing and fearing that even considering them, acknowledging them in any way, shape, or form would open up a pandora’s box of emotions you’d have to sift through and organize alongside the fact that he’s just your friend, your friend for as long as you can remember, and you weren’t ready for it yet— even after what happened under the table on new year.
For your entire life, Choi Beomgyu has been a friend. A neighbor. An annoyance. Someone you care about. Someone you can’t live without.
And experiencing firsthand a life without his annoying presence always hovering around you cemented the fact that you really can’t risk losing him from your life again. And the likelihood of things going wrong, things getting tangled to the point where you’d have to cut each other off is less when he’s just your friend— just a neighbor, just an annoyance— than when he’s someone more than that.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want me to intervene.”
Which is why you feared that if you’d ever admit to yourself that you had feelings for him, that if you’d stopped brushing those feelings away, that risk of losing him would become more than you could handle.
“I just got too angry hearing them talk all that crap.”
But now—
“Ugh. Even thinking about it is making me mad. C’mon, let’s just go.”
You don’t have to keep lying to yourseff anymore. Because who gives a shit about what other people say? Because who gives a shit about risks and fears that are nothing but debris floating around your head?
“Let’s just go home, okay? Let’s head to car, and then—” He stops himself. He lets go of your hand to cup your cheeks, drying up the tears with the warmth of his fingertips. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Nothing is wrong. Because the only thing you give a shit about right now is the fact that the opportunity to love and be loved by Choi Beomgyu only comes once in a lifetime—
“C’mon. You should just forget what Haena and the rest of them said. They’re all nonsense.”
—and spending the entirety of it in denial would just be ridiculous.
“Oh, and now you’re laughing. You’re laughing and crying. Wow, you must’ve gone insane.
Stupid.
“What should I go? Go back? Should I teach them a lesson?”
Pointless.
“Stay here. I’ll go back and—”
Downright impossible.
“Hey, fuckface.”
You tug on his sleeve to stop him from leaving. 
“I’m so fucking in love with you.”
And it feels like air is entering your lungs for the first like, as though twenty years worth of heavy leaden weight has been lifted off your chest. But unlike you, Beomgyo looks like he’s having troube breathing. “Oh,” is all he says, wide-eyed and surprised. Almost as if he’d never been expecting it. Like it had never even crossed his mind that you’d ever say it to him. You, of all people. “W—well—”
“Choi Beomgyu.” You interrupt him befre he could say anything, smacking your palms on both sides of cheeks before the adrenailne leaves your system. Before you could even think twice about anything at all. “I’m sorry I’ve never said it outright before even after we started dating. But you should know that you mean the world to me, you idiot. I’m so in love with you, it makes me stupid. I’m nothing without you.”
This time, it’s him who starts crying.
You let him sink into your arms and bury his face into your shoulder. He drapes himself over while keeping steady around your waist. You hear him sniffle a little. Gross. “Seriously, you’re such a crybaby.”
Beomgyu mumbles an annoyed grunt against your shirt. “And you’re such a meanie for ruining the moment.” He’s glaring at you when he pulls himself up, eyes narrowed and stained red with tears. “Say it again, dipshit.”
“Say what again?”
He frowns. “You know what!”
God. What could you have done in your past life to have been tied together with think punk since the beginning of this one? You roll your eyes and kiss his face. “I’m in love with you, loser. You’re so annoying.”
He grins and lands another one on your lips. “I’m nothing without you, too.”
The streetlight continues to sprinkle its light over the both of you. Choi Beomgyu continues to stay in your life, and he’d keep staying there for as long as this life would let him.
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OKAY. MAYBE YOU DO LIKE CHOI BEOMGYU. As annoying as he is for wasting your time with how often he calls you up at four in the morning for an impulsive fast food run because he wants some company, for injuring your pride by forcing you to play another one of the games the coding club developed and obliterating your ass in the process, you still like him— beyond understanding or comprehension. 
Even when he’s being such a clingy idiot so early in the morning, in the first day of the semester, after he’d just finished being announcing to the entire campus via the anonymous student board gone un-anonymous that you hadn’t been cheating on him since at that time you weren’t even dating, but you are now, and that you’re in love, and that Jang Seung is just a whiney little bitch who made up rumors because he couldn’t stand being rejected.
“You’re crazy! Why the hell would you do that?!”
Choi Beomgyu rubs his nose while you scold his ears off. When you finish, he simply says. “He made another post about you last night. I think it’s because he saw us on a date the other day. What a loser. Hey, look. That’s him over there.”
Indeed, you do spot Jang Seung while you trace down the hallway, on the way to Horangnabi to spend your vacant period in between your next set of classes.
“Ugh. Just what I needed to make my morning worse.”
He’s with a group, and the group contains Eunseok, the guy you went on a blind date with once and got roped into your whole cheating rumor. He looks greatly uncomfortable. Maybe it’s because Jang Seung is talking shit about you and how the both of them got played by you (you did not) when you’ve been going out with Beomgyu this entire time (you were not). Eunseok knows the truth. You talked it out with him before the semester started and he figured you weren’t that kind of person anyway. 
Poor guy wants to leave already.
But Jang Seung seems determined to paint you as a crazy, cheating, boy-crazy whore. Did ignoring his texts for one night injure his ego that much? And here you thought you were prideful. You know that things have died down and at this point people have either forgotten about the whole thing or just don’t care anymore, but the small crowd Seung managed to collect still seemed to be thriving in all the overinflated gossip.
“I mean, if she wasn’t all that into me, she could’ve said so, you know? Still, can you believe she picked that guy over me or you? And the poor cuck even has the guts to publicly announce their relationship like some idiot after she’d been hooking up with his friends.”
“Damn. How are they still together?”
“Quit spreading lies, dude. ”
“Hey, how can you just trust everything she tells you?”
“I still can’t believe that those two are still together, much less even started dating in the first place.”
Normally, you’d just ignore this. But you’ve gotten a bit sick and tired of biting your tongue and behaving as of late.
You march up to them. Eunseok spurs out a greeting. You give all of them a smile— mostly directed at Jang Seung, who’s been relishing the fact that you never gave him the light of day since the stunt he pulled. Until today, at least.
“Hi,” you start. The guy flinches at your delivery. “As much as it surprises you, yes I’m dating Choi Beomgyu. Yes, we’re fucking together, and I never cheated on him with a some half-baked, second-string loser like this bastard who resorts to high school tactics of spreading gossip because his fragile ego couldn’t handle being left on delivered for one night because I had a hospital emergency. Unfortunately, someone like that isn’t my type at all.”
Jang Seung’s face flushes scarlet. His jaw clenches and he barks out, “Hey, what the fuck—” until Eunseok fixes him on the spot by the shoulder. 
“But just to clarify things. No, I have not been cheating on him and you’d think that if I had, he would say so, wouldn’t he? How the fuck could I have cheated on him last year when he only started dating on January first?” 
Okay. You’re getting a little heated. Jang Seung and his group are now staring at you like you’re a crazy person. Beyond them, other people in the hallway have started to pay attention to the ruckus you’re causing.
Now, when a fuse is lit, it’s not easy to kill it.
So you continue talking. For better or for worse.
“Yes. Yes, I’m now dating Choi Beomgyu— are you all satisfied? Are you happy now? You’ve all been up in my fucking business since the first fucking semester asking if I knew him, if he and I were dating, so here’s your god damned answer! Do you want me to tell you how it happened, too? Give you a play by play of how I met him, knew, him and fell for him because you’re all so fucking curious? Should I do that? In fact, why don’t I keep you guys posted! I should just text every single god damned person who knows not how to mind their business to update you whenever, each and every single time we fucking—”
“Whoa, easy there.”
You’re yanked back by Choi Beomgyu, who has one arm hooked in front of your collar shoulders and safely pressing you close to his torso. His free hand is covering the muffled noises coming out of your mouth as you struggle out of his grip.
Beomgyu simply lets you struggle in vain. He looks ahead, smiling at Jang Seung and the rest of the people in the group. “As much as I wanted to continue listening to her, I don’t really want any more people anonymously talking shit about my girlfriend in the forum just for living her own life and minding her own business.” You’re still squirming in his grip. This fucking bastard. “Anyway, we’re off. Eunseok, see you around.”
It’s only when you two have managed to leave the building that Beomgyu decides it’s time to release you. “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you jerk?” you yell, yanking him down by the backpack strap.
“What do you think? Saving your ass from any more rumors, stupid,” he answers while shaking you off. “We should really work on your temper.”
It’s a pleasant walk to Horangnabi. You haven’t been here again in ages.
“I have been working on it! Today was an exemption, so go fuck yourself off.”
“This is exactly what I mean,” he sighs and shakes his head, opening the cafe door for you to enter first, and he follows immediately after. “Potty mouth and a nasty personality. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Your mother must have had a hard time raising you.”
“Quit bringing up my mother every single time you want to win an argument.”
You two find some empty seats right by the window in the right wing of the store. You sit down and set your things on the empty seats. “I can’t just give up on my cheat code, you know,” Beomgyu hums, smiling insufferably as slides the menu down from the table surface. “So, do I win? What’s my prize?”
“Hey, no PDA within store premises! I’ll blacklist you two!”
The both of you turn your heads to see Heeseung, who’s holding a notepad and wearing the employee apron as a uniform. He started working part-time at Horangnabi sometime last month. Extra pocket money, he says. You know it’s because he started seeing someone from the arts department and needed the date funds. Usually, he’d be happy to see you, but something’s gotten in his panties in a twist today. You snicker, about to egg him on, but to your surprise, someone else answers your curiosities.
“He’s just salty because he got dumped over the break.”
Your eyes brighten. You beam out a smile. “Julie!” 
She arrives with a pat on a grumbling Heeseung’s back as she mirrors your expression. “Hi, pretty girl. How was your break?” She moves on from Heeseung to coddle you with attention, hugging you from behind your chair. Have you considered working for us again? I started missing you more ever since this guy started working with us again.”
“Must be bad at the job,” Beomgyu snorts. Heeseung’s protests are left unheard. “Hey, when are you gonna take our order?”
“Ugh. I set you two up together and this is how you repay me?”
Heeseung takes your orders— an americano for him, a matcha latte for you, and a butterscotch croissant for you two to share. While waiting, Beomgyu takes out some of his notebooks from his bags and starts highlighting the pages based on the syllabus his professor handed them earlier. Wow, he’s become diligent, whereas you’re busying yourself with your phone in the midst of a conversation with Chaeryeong. She was so sorry for passing out in the middle of the reunion incident a few ago, and it was Seungmin who filled her in on what happened. She says gonna treat you to dinner this weekend to make up for it. You smile and text her that you look forward to it.
“Iced americano, matcha latte and butterscotch croissant.”
Hanbin is the one who delivers your orders. You thank him with a smile and he leaves with a pat on your head, telling you to come visit the clubroom later. 
“Stop smiling at him like that.”
You turn your attention back to the person sitting in front of you— Choi Beomgyu, with his arms crossed over the books scattered on his table, coupled with a pout and furrowed brows. “Ew, are you jealous?” you snark, picking up your latte from the table and taking a sip. “Wipe that look off your face. It doesn’t suit you. And Hanbin is way too nice and normal to be my type. Unfortunately, god made me like guys who are the slightest bit insane.”
“I keep your life interesting,” he hums out with a proud grin, satisfied with your answer. You set your drink back down, a thought entering your head. It’s quiet in Horangnabi. You two are the only customers at the moment, and soft music siphons through the speakers.
Ever since that day in the beginning of the year, not much has changed between you and him. He’s still calling you names. He’s still annoyingly hooking your feet underneath the table with his so that you’d have a hard time getting up.
It makes you wonder when exactly did he start seeing you differently.
“Beomgyu,” you start. He perks up, a curious expression on his face. “What if I tell you I’ve sort of already had the idea that you’ve had feelings for me since, I don’t know— when we made up after our fight last year?”
He blinks at you, curious expression replaced by something unreadable. You start to grow a little nervous. Then he drops the bomb.
“What if I tell you these feelings have been around since middle school?”
Well, damn.
“That...that would make a lot of sense.”
He only laughs in response, reorganizing his books and setting them aside. “But if you’ve known since then, then wooow— I can’t believe you’ve been leading me on for that long.” He’s shaking his head and clicking his tongue. You groan and cover your face guiltily. He laughs once more. “I’m kidding. It’s not like I didn’t put any effort into hiding it. I know how uncomfortable you got because of all the people gossiping about our relationship. I’d just make things even harder for you if I suddenly confessed.”
With the table now cleared, he slides down the untouched pastry to your side of the table.
“So, I just decided to try and hide it and wait for the right time. If that time ever would ever come, that is,” he continues. “But since you’ve known, I guess I wasn’t exactly doing a good job in hiding how I feel.” 
Your eyes linger at the crescent roll. You take the fork and knife and reply, “Yeah, you’re not very slick.”
“Hey, it was very hard for me, you know!” he huffs, pouting. You slice into the croissant and stab the smaller piece with the fork. “I felt like dying whenever you mentioned that bastard Seung or Song, or whatever. And you even asked me to set me up with my friends. You’re so mean—”
You reach an arm over the table. Beomgyu stares at your offering— a little surprised, a little flustered, but he clears his throat and leans forward, taking a bite from the pastry before wiping his mouth with a napkin, eyes down, face flushed.
He can be cute sometimes. You set the fork back down on the plate. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
“T—tsk. I’m just cool like that, you know?” Still insufferable. You roll your eyes and grab a piece of the pastry yourself, but while the mood is still high, Beomgyu takes the opportunity to speak his own mind too, bringing up one more thing that had been lingering in the back of both of your minds. “That night— you know, on new year’s when you said that we should just start dating— I knew you just said it in the heat of the moment.” The pastry gets stuck in your throat. “And I knew at that moment that you’d end up taking it back as a joke and laugh it all off. I didn’t really want to hear that. So I just...decided to speak before you could take it back.”
Ah. Your face is getting hot. You swipe your drink from the table to swallow your emotions down. But Choi Beomgyu manages to snatch your hand before you could do that.
“And you didn’t take it back.”
Your flustered gaze flashes up at him. His eyes remain on you.
“So you just have no choice but to deal with all of this.”
He presses a kiss onto the back of your palm. You yelp and snatch your hand back, cheeks burning and heart racing. He’s grinning like a madman.
“Stop it! We’re in public. God, I hate you, you’re such a dweeb—”
You say you hate him, but he knows you don’t mean it. You’ve been saying all these years that you don’t like him, that he’s just an annoyance, destined to bother you until the end of time— but he’s come to know that none of that is true.
“No one’s here anyway! Heeseung doesn’t count as a person!”
You don’t have to keep pretending that you don’t like Choi Beomgyu. Because in fact, you kind of, really, do.
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AFTERWORD. hello….whoo whee this was quite a ride wasn’t it HAHAHAHHAHA. 49k words of choi beomgyu being the only man ever 😞😞😞 anyhow, i hope you all enjoyed what i believe is my best piece yet!!! writing this was both extremely easy and difficult because hannie-dul-set enjoyers know that my brand is usually silly stupid fics, but the emotional weight of this one did make it a bit difficult for me to write sometimes since i’m a mood writer, even though none of the themes are inherently sad? just very very emotional HHAHAHAHA. two of the most challenging parts too in the planning process was how…i’d be able to depict a change in their relationship after the new year’s scene, while also making sure that beomgyu and mc’s dynamic is still…them, you know? it wouldn’t be them if they just became gross and lovey dovey overnight. it wouldn’t be them if they still didn’t call each other names and swore at each other’s faces despite being horrendously in love. but i think i managed to reconcile these two aspects pretty well in the fic.
the other challenging thing i had to tackle might have been a point of frustration for you guys— making sure that mc’s narration and monologue is completely devoid of any acknowledgement about her feelings for beomgyu and vice versa HAHHAHAHAHHA. but it was necessary because she herself didn’t want to acknowledge, even after they started dating, and the entire thing is written in her pov.
speaking of pov….i think a spin-off written in beomgyu’s pov would be nice after all of this. we only got some bits and pieces of how he’d been feeling all throughout and though i believe the limited information i’ve given is enough to give the idea on how beomgyu was faring all throughout, it would also be interesting to delve into his psyche, all the way from mogi to nabi.
anyhow, those are just empty plans for now HAHAHAHAHAH i hope you enjoyed all three parts of nabi— a sequel i never even intended to write in the first place, but ended up being one of my works that’s closest to my heart. please please do send in your thoughts in the comments, asks, dm’s, wherever!
happy new year! love you all!
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나비 / NABI. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.
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romana-after-dark · 2 days ago
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Fleshlight
Dark!Scott Summers x fem!reader x Logan Howlett
(Includes some Scogan)
Join my taglist : Masterlist
Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me
My submission #2 for Dead Dove December! there is still plenty of time, so I hope I can see at one or more other Oscar isaac Submissions and maybe a logan submission! Also, I love every single of the Pedro submissions, you are all so amazing!!!
Summary: After Jean dies, Scott blames anyone and everyone, and he hates that Logan has moved on and is happy. He wants to take that happiness, he wants to be able to forget, and he wants to know what Logan had that Jean wanted so much...
Warnings: SCOTT IS DARK! He non con/dub cons reader and also Logan, in different ways. I don't want to spoil things so just be aware THIS IS DARK! multiple themes here at play. Cucking Logan howlett tee hee. Put him in the cuck chair!!
DDDNE dividers by @clawdee
3.2 words
A/N: I tagged the logan tag list, but this isn't strickly or even really much logan x reader so if its not for you, don't feel like you gotta read it.
Tumblr does not have an algorithm. Although likes are always appreciated, and comments are what keep me writing, reblogs are how work is spread. things are not pushed by the site based on how mnay likes they get. Please consider reblogging, thank you <3
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Jean was dead.
And Scott was a mess.
It had been a year now, and Scott refused to move on, refused to make a new life for himself. Somehow, Scott blamed himself, blamed Logan, and blamed anyone who was stupid enough to try and comfort him. Logan’d near taken off his head when he shouted at Rogue, finding some convoluted reason it was her fault. Logan had grown tired of his moping and how everyone just tip-toed around him. He had tried, really tried to be nice; he told Scott that Jean chose him, but that didn’t help, and despite trying a few times to comfort him or talk to him in a drunken stupor, Scott only replied with a mix of ‘fuck off’ and insults.
So, logan stopped trying, and he stopped moping with Scott. Instead, he found homeless a pretty little girlfriend. You!
That only seemed to make Scott worse.
So it wasn’t surprising when Logan found him downing booze in the staff kitchen. He wasn’t supposed to have it, but no one really had the heart to tell him to keep alcohol off school grounds. 
“You buy’n, Slim?” Logan tried to joke, grabbing two water bottles instead from the fridge.
Scott replied with a humorless laugh. “Don’t you have your girl to get back to?”
“Yeah.” he held two water bottles in his large hand, giving them a shake and winking. “Gotta keep her hydrated after the last 2 hours.”
He didn’t expect the depressed, tired man to slam him against the counter. Face to face, breath to breath, Logan was closer to Scott than he’d ever been, feeling him right there against him, Scotts lean but firm chest against Logan’s own white tank top. Up close, Scott looked worse off than he’d seemed; which was already bad. He was pale as always, but now his skin was sunken and damn near gray. Darkness peaked from under his visor.
“It’s not fair, y’know that?” Scott said, his voice barely above a whisper; it was an earthy gravel, like his voice had to claw its way out from rubble just to get here. “You get to just move on, and I’m stuck with this.”
“Don’t act like you don’t love your martyr act,” Logan sneered. “Like you aren’t making a fetish out of your sadness! She wouldn’t want you to be so fucking miserable you drop 30 pounds and smell like jose and puke! Jesus Scott,” he shoves at the young man, but not hard enough to push him away. “This isn’t for her, this is so that you can feel sorry-”
Lips on lips, chest to chest, crotch to swelling crotch Scott kissed him. It was hard, angry, not passion to it but a searching, a longing. Logan didn’t kiss back, and once his initial shock faded into recognition, Logan used his strength to shove Scott back. Hard.
The sound of Scott hitting the table and crashing to the floor probably would wake half the mansion, but Logan didn’t help the situation by yelling. 
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!”
“I’m not an idiot!” Scott shouted back from the floor, looking pathetic. “I know why she liked you, I’m not fucking blind, but christ, I was supposed to be her husband! HER HUSBAND! And she wanted YOU! You took her from me! And now you get to just move on and fuck your little toy while I’m miserable!”
Logan, breathing heavy still, took out a cigar and a lighter as he stared down at him. “I’m giving you a break because all this?” He waves the lit cigar in his direction. “Is pathetic. But touch me again, or call my girl anything shitty and I’ll claw out intestines and feed them to you.”
*
It had been a week since the incident, but Logan couldn’t get it out of his head. What the hell was wrong with Scott? What, he couldn’t kiss Jean so he kissed the last person who had? Idiot. Fucking idiot. He hadn’t even seen him since, and thank fuck for that. 
Logan was returning from another trip to the kitchen, this time some food to give you energy for continuation of your marathon sex. 
“Hey baby, I got you pizz-” He saw you in your little robe, sat on Scott’s lap, little lip quivering.
“Logan!” You cried for him, and Logan nearly made mad dash to rip you from the fucker and rip his throat out, but he hesitated when he saw Scott was wearing his visor.
The fucker smirked. “I wouldn’t.” He referenced Logan’s unsheathed claws. “Not unless you’d like your girl without a head.”
Fresh tears came from your face as Scott snaked a hand around your waist. 
“What the fuck do you want?” Logan gritted out.
“Close the door and take a seat.”
With slow movements, but doing what he was told, Logan shut the door to his bedroom and sat at the chair facing the bed. He didn’t normally think Scott was capable of cold blooded murder of an innocent, but he hadn’t been himself lately. Who knew what he was capable of? 
“Okay, I’m in the damn chair, now let her go.”
 Scott didn’t pay any attention, tucking his face in the crook of your wet neck and smelling your skin and hair. “Pretty little toy you got here, huh? Must be nice…” His hand around your waist nudged over the loose robe, revealing your skin.
“Scott, fucking stop or I swear to God-”
“You have no control here, Logan.” His eyes snapped up to the anxious older man. “You try to hurt me, I’ll kill her and you.”
“Don’t hurt him, please!” Your sniffle pulls his attention to you again. “What do you want? Please, just don’t hurt him.”
“Baby-”
“I want my wife back.”
*
You hear Logan growl in frustration; his knuckles whitening as he grips the table. “She’s not coming back!”
You worry that Logan’s temper and sharp words are escalating the situation, but Scott still speaks evenly. “I know. I know… but we have her, don’t we?” he reached up and squeezed your breast, and you cringe in embarrassment.
“We don’t have anything!”
“Well, you don’t. Not right now, anyway. But I have her, and oh, baby…” His voice drops an octave, and you can feel the swelling in his pants pressed against your ass. “I’m gonna make good use.”
You knew what would happen. What you had to let happen to keep each of you alive. Scott was going to fuck you.
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!” Logan began to stand, but then Scott fired up his visor, ready to shoot. Logan backed down.
“It’s okay.” You whisper, wet eyes locking with Logans. “Just- just let it happen, Lo.”
“He won’t get away with it, baby, I promise, I’ll fucking-”
Logan was interrupted by a loud moan as Scott spread your legs, feeling the wetness inside you. “Still this tight after Logan took you? What the matter, sweetheart, big guy not working for much?”
Scott had your legs locked around his knees, spreading you open for Logan to watch as the robe dismantled down your shoulders. Logan was scowling.
“Bigger than you, Slim.” He spat.
Turning to you and nuzzling his nose at your shoulder, Scott mutters “I think the lady doth protest too much.” And chuckles to himself. 
His fingers were deep inside you, and you cursed the way your body betrayed you. It wasn’t your fault, Logan had made you cum 5 times already, but always left you wanting more, your cunt dripping with your arousal and his spend as you lay spread out on the bed. Even as Logan searched for food while you rested, you couldn’t take your hands away from your pussy. That’s how Scott found you.
Your thighs flex as your cunt spasms; Scott notices and laughs. The pelasure was dizzing, and you hated that he felt so fucking good. “Eager little toy, considering the circumstances, aren’t you? What the matter, Logan can’t take care of you? Big man wanted to steal my wife, but can’t make his whore cum?” Scott picks you up, and you’re surprised by his strength as he stands and tosses you on the bed, robe now splayed out underneath you and over the tousled blue sheets. 
With a smug, lopsided grin that was borderline charming, Scott looks down at you, holding up 2 dripping fingers. At first, you thought he was making fun of you for getting so wet, but as he loomed over you, popped up with just the strength of one arm, you see the white swirled in with you.
“This all Logan’s got for you, little toy? I think a pretty doll like you deserves more than a few little spurts. Don’t you worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.” Then, turning to lock eyes with Logan, Scott licks the seething man's cum off his fingers, grinding his erection between your legs.
*
It didn’t take long Scott to be butt naked, sliding his uncut tip between your folds. Quickly, you pant, and you hope Logan thinks it’s from being nervous, because it somewhat is… you hope he can’t see into your mind with those little powers of his…
“I want my toy to beg for it.” Scott says, his voice husky above you. He looks good like this, his slim body muscled still, more defined abs and pecs than Logan but lacking in the arms. Logan had great arms. And his back, oh my god, watching Logan take off his shirt from behind… Scott must’ve seen you drifting, so his large hands gripped your chin. “I said beg for it, toy.”
“Mmm mm” You shake your head, Scotts grip on you too tight to talk. 
Logan’s voice calls to you. “Baby.” You turn to him. “It’s okay.”
But you don’t relent, unable to take the humiliation. “Fine.” Scott sits back on his haunches. “Let’s try something else.”
Your body was already worked up from him finger fucking you, and your skin sensative from the rub of Logan’s beard earlier, so when Scotts fingers found your clit, you can’t help but yelp.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk” Scott teases. “Toys should be played with, not heard…” He begins to expertly play with your clit with his nimble fingers, learning quickly what made your eyes cross.
“I- I’m not a toy…” You try to argue, even are your orgasm begins to swell from where the finger fucking left off.
“Sure you are, that’s what you are to Logan”
Logan from the chair. “No, it’s not!”
“SHUT THE HELL UP” Scotts viser glowed, and as Logan shouted no, he burst open window to the room. Glass shattered on the floor, and for a moment the only sound were the birds outside. Neither you nor Logan dared move. In his burst of rage, Scott slaps your pussy. It stings, it fucking stings so bad but christ, it feels good. He goes back to his little game. “You’re a toy to him. Jean was a toy,” He’s breath, worked up. “He’s a user, and he’ll use you until you’re dead too.” 
Warmer, wetter, up, up, up your orgasm began to crest, read to cum despite the fear, despite your boyfriend watching. It didn’t matter at the moment. Up, and up, and up until- Scott pulled away, leaving your tense body shaking. Down, down, down… 
“You’re not coming on another but my cock, fleshlight.” Scott rubbed his dick on your folds again. “Toy’s don’t get pleasure, they give it. Are you ready to beg?”
Still shaking, your stomach cramping from the unpleasurable near-orgasm, you barely gather enough thought to whisper, “No.”
“Fine by me. I’ll just keep playing with you until you’re ready.”
Logan’s voice seemed far away now, telling him to stop, telling him it’s enough, he made his point… but you knew he didn’t yet.
Again and again, Scott took you right to the edge, right to wear your stomach tight, legs tensed, cunt clenched down on nothing and then- gone. Over, and over, until tears were spilling from your eyes, your clit aching in overstimulation, your sopping wet hole begging for release you couldn’t give. It hurt, all your muscles cramping and aching and there was no end in sight. Scott seemed to enjoy it. Still rock hard, every time you came down from a ruined orgasm, it was ready to go, ready to prode at your entrance, waiting until you begged for it. It felt like hours, although you knew it hadn’t been that long.
Until Scott threatened Logan, you wouldn’t give him that.
“C’mon, little fleshlight…” He teases you, tapping the tip of his cock repeatedly against your swollen clit. “Beg for it.”
“N-no.” You refuse, sobbing in pain, the agonizing torture and embaresment of the pleasure you did feel swelling up inside you. “I wo-”
“Fuck her.” Logan’s voice pulls you over to the corner, where you see him, jaw clenched. “I want you to fuck her, Scott. Please.” For a moment, you’re confused at what he’s doing but then you get it. He’s saving you the humiliation of begging, but he can’t take watching you suffer anymore. Logan slides off the chair, dropping to his knees. “Please fuck her, Scott. Let’s just end this.”
You give Logan a small smile. Groveling is not what he does, but he is for you. 
“Come here.” Scott beckons and Logan starts to stand, but Scott stops him. “Nuh uh. Hands and knees. No funny business. I’ll end us all right here.”
Cheeks burning, Logan crawls to the bed, clearly trying to stop himself from clawing Scott. Even if Logan got a stab or two in, it would take seconds for Cyclops to laser either of you, or harm some innocent person in the building; clearly, he was a man who felt he had nothing to lose, who knew what he’d do.
Knelt at the side of the bed, Logan looked up at Scott, his auburn hair falling over his forehead. Scott placed two fingers, fingers that smell distinctly of you, at his lower lip. “Beg me to fuck you.”
Logan swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. “Fuck me, Scott.”
With a satisfied grin, Scott slid his cock inside you. It was a stretch, the thick girth of him still not as much as Logan, but longer. Fuck, he felt good. You were so sensitive, you thought you could feel every vein of Scott’s cock. Whimpering and whining around him, your pussy drooling with relief, you see that Scott isn’t even paying attention. Instead, he’s staring intently into Logans eyes as he pushes his fingers into his mouth at the same pace her enters you. Logan, for his part, gazed up at Scott with a borderline entranced look.
As Scott fucked you, her fingers went in an out of Logan’s mouth at the same time. In. Out. In. Out. 
Logan’s pants were tighter than usual.
Scott barely acknowledged you, looking only at Logan, muttering things to him so quiet only Logan’s hearing could pick up, even if you had the ability to focus.
All you can here from Logan is a quiet, repeated whisper of “It was my fault. It was was my fault.” But you didn’t know what.
 Scott felt so good inside you, hitting deeper than Logan could, hitting places you didn’t know were reachable by cock. In a way, it was better. You didn’t have to look at the man assaulting you; he was nothing, he wasn’t there, he was a dildo inside you, unattached to a person, right? Right?
So why did you feel like the toy?
And why did you like it?
Whatever was happening between Logan and Scott right now, you weren’t so much on the outside, you were the barrier. You were the thin film that prevented this from being gay, that prevented Scott from throat fucking Logan even as your boyfriend gag with him knuckles disappearing past his lips. You were the condom. You were the “no homo”, in Scotts head. He fucked you, but he was imagining Logan.
You were the fleshlight.
Despite all this, there was something so new about Logan on his knees, something sick inside of you opening up that you liked seeing him, all 6 feet and adamantium and tough bravado drooling and gagging and fucking hard for Scott. He looked good like this. You even liked the little bit of fear in his eyes.
Scott snapped back to you. “Pretty little toy, aren’t you? Does it make you wet to see your boyfriend on his knees?”
Lost in it all, you roll your eyes back, only barely getting out a yes and pleasure begins to over take you. You were so close, your cunt tightening with little spasms around Scott as you begged him not to stop this time. Scott pulls his fingers out Logan and grabs him by his curled up hair, pulling him to your puffy mound. 
“Suck on her and touch yourself, Logan. We’re all doing this together, or not at all.”
*
It did not take Logan long to catch up; it was seconds, in fact, because he was ready to bust in his pants just with hearing Scott fuck you, the wet smell of your pussy, the fingers in his mouth he imaged a cock, and the filthy, degrading shit Scott whispered to him. He never thought he’d get off to being called subhuman, a disgusting animal, to being made fun of for what Scott perceived Logan couldn’t do for you, but Logan didn’t think he could get harder.
He liked feeling weak, for once. He liked knowing he was at Scotts mercy. He liked knowing you were at Scotts mercy and he was powerless to stop any of it. Logan didn’t feel powerless often. It was… freeing.
The three of you cum at the same time, Logan sucking hard on your clit and feeling as you writhe and twitch, feeling Scott hipbone ram into him as he filled you up with load after load of his cum in your guts while Logan squirted out pathetically onto the wood floor instead.
When it ended, ended with a cry and the final sound of Scotts balls against your ass, Scott collapsed onto the bed.
Just a slight bit, you scooted towards him, not away, and Scott wrapped an arm around you as he cried. It didn’t feel like a cry of sadness, but of relief. Scott had snapped, that dark side of him that he tried too hard to hide under his pristine exterior for Jean came out, and he had gotten Logan to admit it. 
Her death was his fault.
Logan knew this, because he felt the same. The same relief, being able to just… let go. And to just it, just admit out loud it was his fault Jean was dead, he should’ve stopped her, he should’ve done more, more, more. He should have done more to protect you, to stop Scott…  But with this, he didn’t have to do anything. He just had to let it all go.
It was his fault, and he never felt more free.
This was Logan’s chance. Scott was distracted, he could pretty easily decapitate him…
Logan made no move.
He bent over licking his cum from the floor.
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Thanks for reading!!! looking forward to reading more of your ddd entries!
THERE IS STILL TIME! if you have an idea and want to enter it, just reach out with how much time you need! i probs wont have a masterlist until middle January to February. Thanks!
I appriciate you all so much! I've had a hard time lately with being sick, a car accident, relapsing on SH, and work issues. I havn't been writing as much, and im sorry. for that. Just know I appriciate the love you give so much, it means the world and i hope nothing but the best for you!
if you like scott, consider reading Our Gentle Sins. there no scott x reader, but he's the only sane person in this story.
more dark scott? heres a short piece!
Tagging the logan taglist, even though this isnt really logan x reader.
@soundofmassconfusion @miraclesabound @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @hornystan @del-ightfulling @madamerubrum @journal3sposts @tomhockstetter7-111 @and-claudia @yeaiamme2 @xoxabs88xox
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urfavlarry · 19 hours ago
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—You’re the kind of person they write rock songs about
—modern!au Viktor x fem!reader warning. not proof read, might be OOC, swearing
part one || part two || part three
‼️A/N. if anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this fic, let me know!! ‼️
‘I need someome to show me the things
in life that I can’t find.’
With a loud thud, Powder burst into the room, stumbling over her own feet and nearly causing your morning coffee to spill all over your art project—a project due in just under a week. "Powder! Jesus—slow down!" you exclaimed, letting out a frustrated groan as you steadied your coffee mug. Taking a long sip to steady your nerves, you swiveled in your desk chair to face her, one brow raised in curiosity. "So, what’s got you in such a rush?"
Powder was practically vibrating with excitement, her energy contagious enough to turn your initial annoyance into amusement. "You know that café with the whole vintage, 80s vibe you’ve been dying to visit?" she began, her tone filled with anticipation. Immediately, your ears perked up, and your confusion began to shift into hope. “Yeah, what about it? They’re always booked solid. Did something happen?” Instead of answering, she squealed with delight and shoved her phone in front of your face. On the screen was a reservation confirmation—a table for eight at 12 o’clock.
Your eyes widened as you did a double take. “No way.” Checking the time, you saw you had exactly an hour and fifteen minutes to get ready. Without hesitation, you pulled Powder into a quick hug and kissed her forehead before running off to prepare.
As you enter the bathroom you decide to style your hair in the way you always did for special occasions. It was a routine you knew by heart, and the familiarity calmed your excitement enough to let you focus. Opening your chaotic closet, you scanned its contents and grabbed the first outfit that caught your eye. You layered it with accessories that reflected your personal style before glancing at the clock. "Forty-five minutes," you muttered, impressed with your speed. Thankfully, waking up early to shower and do your skincare routine meant you had saved yourself a lot of stress—a rare victory you silently thanked your past self for.
Powder, now pacing the dorm trying to think of what to get at the café, noticed you were ready and practically dragged you to the full-length mirror she had insisted on bringing to your shared space earlier in the semester.
"Wait! Stay still," she commanded, snapping a quick picture of the two of you. You struck a playful pose at the last second, making her giggle as she added the picture to her camera roll, no doubt planning to post it later along with the many already planned ahead photo ideas she had in mind.
Powder grinned and grabbed your hand, practically bouncing out the door as you both made your way toward what promised to be an unforgettable day.
Oh and unforgettable it was.
You arrived at the subway station and met up with everyone— except Mel and Jayce who decided they’d go by car since it was the best possible option for them as they were out earlier that morning and were just 10 minutes away from your destination.
Viktor was seated next to you while the others had run off to find a place to sit in the packed space which had been a bit uncomfortable since everyone was standing body to body and god knows how many pervs were lurking around. You absentmindedly scooted closer to Viktor, bumping into his cane which almost hit the person standing next to you before you luckily caught it. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry I wasn’t thinking straight— shit, is it damaged or anything? I’ll buy you whatever you please at that cafe, I’m sorry.” You stuttered out, earning a teasing grin from Viktor. “No harm done, but if you’re offering..” You breathe out a relieved sigh, chuckling sheepishly; “I mean I don’t mind getting you something. It could be like a thanks for listening to me and my band play.” And with that, it was settled.
When the train pulled into your stop, everyone spilled out onto the platform. Ekko stumbled dramatically, throwing his arms up as if he’d just escaped certain doom. "Oh my god fresh air!" he exclaimed, drawing laughter from the group. “Alright, let’s go," Vi said in a commanding tone. "We’ve got twenty minutes until our reservation, so move it, squirts, and Vik." She said, Powder flipping her off as a faint; “Hey! Why’d you leave Viktor out of your pathetic try at an insult?” could be heard as all of them climbed up the stairs ahead of you and the man mentioned.
The walk to the café was surprisingly quiet, save for Powder and Ekko’s chatter. Viktor’s cane tapped rhythmically against the pavement, a sound that seemed to echo in the silence. You fiddled with your sleeves absentmindedly, still replaying your earlier clumsiness in your mind. Noticing your fidgeting, Viktor broke the silence. "I heard you’ve been wanting to visit this place since the start of the semester," he said, his tone more observational than questioning. You looked at him, caught slightly off guard by his comment. "Yeah," you admitted, your voice softening. "I’ve always loved the vibe. It’d be a dream to play there, but it’s just one of those things that probably won’t happen." Viktor frowned slightly at your words. "Why not? You’ve got the talent. And, dare I say, a very charming personality. There’s no doubt you could swoon the manager over and into giving you a gig—maybe even by next week."
His confidence in you made your cheeks flush, a shy smile spreading across your face. "Viktor, you really have a way with words it’s truly admirable," you said with a laugh. "You know, you’re the kind of person they’d write rock songs about."
Before he could respond, you giggled and darted ahead to catch up with the rest of the group, who were now gathered at the café’s entrance. Viktor watched you go, a faint smile playing at his lips before he made his way over to where Jayce and Mel were waiting.
The café was a dream come to life. Warm signs flickered gently against the dark wood walls, and the faint crackle of vinyl played on an old jukebox in the corner. Every detail—from the checkered floor to the vintage records and trinkets on the shelves.. it all felt so unreal. The stained glass also added on to the whole vibe, the colourful glass reflecting the suns beautiful rays onto the floor, walls and even booths giving it that magical touch.
You couldn’t help but smile as you took it all in. Powder was already snapping pictures with her phone, Ekko leaning into the frame and striking goofy poses. Caitlyn and Vi claimed the booth’s corner seats, their hands brushing as they shared a menu. Jayce and Mel arrived shortly after, bringing the group all together.
The energy was vibrant, the table filled with overlapping conversations and laughter as everyone admired the café’s welcoming and cozy aura. Viktor took a seat beside you again, his quiet presence somehow grounding amidst all the noise.
"See?" Powder beamed, nudging your shoulder. "Worth the rush, right?" "Totally," you admitted, leaning back and savoring the moment. "This place is amazing." As everyone placed their orders, Viktor leaned slightly toward you, his voice low so only you could hear. "Do you still think playing here is just a dream?" His question caught you off guard. You looked at him, unsure of how to respond. "I mean... yeah? It’s not like places like this to just hand out gigs to random people. I doubt they’d want a rock band playing here anyway.. especially not college students.” He let your words sink in for a while before a small smile tugged at his lips. “Who knows. Sometimes you just need the right connections to make things happen.”
Before you could press him on what he meant, the food and drinks arrived, and the table erupted into excitement. Plates of waffles, milkshakes, coffee and a whole bunch of other delicious dishes were passed around, each one looking like it had stepped straight out of a retro diner ad.
Ekko was the first to dive in, immediately stealing a bite from Powder’s plate. "Hey!" she protested, smacking his hand away with a laugh. Everyone dug in and continued their conversations, you yourself indulging in a conversation with Mel and Jayce who were curious about your career choice and major which you were more then happy to talk about. They stared in awe as you explained how you met each member and how you all formed the band, Powder and Ekko later joining in and as did Caitlyn.
At some point, Viktor excused himself, disappearing for a whole 15 minutes but you decided to let it go, indulging in whatever topic your friends had brought up.
When Viktor returned, he wore an expression that was far too pleased with himself. You raised an eyebrow, but he simply shrugged and slid back into his seat, redirecting the conversation effortlessly.
The group lingered at the café for over an hour, soaking in the atmosphere and sharing stories. When it finally was time to leave, you felt a pang of reluctance but pushed it aside, grateful for the experience.
As the group made their way out, Viktor fell into step beside you. "You might want to keep your calendar clear for next weekend," he said casually, his tone light but meaningful. You frowned, confused. "Why?" "Let’s just say you’ll need it free," he replied cryptically, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.
You wanted to press him for more details, but the others were already calling for you to catch up. The walk back was just as lively as before, Powder and Ekko bickering playfully while Vi and Caitlyn walked hand in hand.
All the while, Viktor’s words echoed in your mind, sparking a tiny ember of excitement you couldn’t quite extinguish.
The days that followed Viktor’s very vague message had you up and restless all night. You tried to keep yourself busy—between classes, band practice, and working on your art project, you thought you could distract yourself with but Viktor’s words lingered like a riddle you couldn’t solve.
Powder was no help either. “You’re overthinking it,” she said casually one night as you both sat in your dorm. “Am I?” you asked, strumming a chord on your guitar. “He tells me to keep my calendar clear and then refuses to explain anything. How am I not supposed to think about it?” Powder shrugged, lying back on her bed with her phone in hand. “Look, maybe it’s something cool, or maybe it’s just Viktor being, y’know, Viktor. Either way, freaking out isn’t gonna help.”
You sighed, knowing she was right, but it didn’t stop the curiosity from eating at you. Viktor was too intentional, too precise for this to be random. Whatever he had planned, it wasn’t something small.
By Wednesday, your patience had worn thin. After class, you spotted Viktor in the library, surrounded by notes and his laptop, indulged in his work. Deciding you couldn’t wait any longer, you walked over and slid into the seat across from him. He looked up, mildly surprised but not displeased. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He smirked, knowing exactly why you were there.
“You know exactly why I’m here,” you said, folding your arms. He raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “Do I?” “You’ve been playing this weird game of mystery all week,” you said, exasperated. “Come on, just spill it already. What’s going on?” Viktor chuckled softly, amused by your little outburst. “You’re impatient,” he observed. “Yeah, and you’re avoiding the question,” you shot back, brows furrowed with annoyance.
Viktor’s smirk widened slightly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Perhaps. But where’s the fun in revealing everything so soon?” You narrowed your eyes at him, torn between frustration and curiosity. “You know, not everyone enjoys playing your shitty guessing games, Viktor.” He leaned forward, resting his hands lightly on his cane. “And yet, here you are, thoroughly invested.”
You opened your mouth to retort but stopped, realizing he was right. “Fine,” you said with a resigned sigh, leaning back in your chair. “But if this turns out to be some overhyped bullshit, I swear to god Viktor I’ll smash my guitar against your head.” You said, of course not meaning the petty threat seariously since guitars were hella expensive but you definitely were annoyed.
Viktor’s chuckle deepened, the corners of his mouth twitching in a rare, genuine smile. “Noted. But I don’t think you’ll be disappointed rockstar.”
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taglist: @skullmvncher @startingtoloveyou
© URFAVLARRY
DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE OR COPY ANY OF MY WRITING TO OTHER PLATFORMS
I DON’T CONSENT FOR MY WRITING TO BE USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫
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pawnshopbleus · 3 days ago
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These Are the Days Chapter Twelve - You
Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader High School au
For the summary, warnings, and more, please visit here.
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You're back at school after what felt like a very long weekend. The cold hallways of Bellevue High welcome you as you shove your gloved hands into your coat pockets. It’s a cold autumn day in Washington. Leaves crunched under your bike's tires, and your mascara started to run as droplets of rain began to fall from the sky.
It had been a day since Abby had told you that she and Owen were done. It had been two days since she'd kissed you. The feeling you had felt could be described in a single word: bliss. You had long waited for Abby to realize she could do better. Even if she didn’t feel the same for you as you did for her, you would still support her no matter what.
The day went by faster than you expected, with nearly half of your teachers giving you busy work. Packets upon packets and simple readings on lessons you’ve already gone over. With Bellevue being one of the nicer suburbs in Seattle, you would have thought that the teachers cared, but those who did were usually few and far between. Luckily, you had a teacher like Mr. Miller who was currently walking up and down the rows of students, passing out the latest test.
Abby sat next to you like always. Her leg bounces up and down rapidly as she waits for the latest test score. You want to reach out to her. You want to comfort her, tell her that everything will all be okay, but you don’t. You know better than to do that right now.
Mr. Miller walks up to your table, slides your test over, and does the same to Abby. With trembling hands, Abby flips her test over and is face to face with her grade. The red “B+” is accompanied by a smiley face. Abby’s shoulders sag with relief; this is the first time you have seen her smile since the kiss. It looks like those tutoring sessions are finally paying off.
The bell rings, and students fly out of the classroom. You shove your test into your backpack without looking at the score, already aware that you passed, and wait for Abby to join you. The two of you walk down the hallways, weaving past groups of students taking up every available space. Finally making your way out of the hoard of students, you’re spit out into an almost empty hallway in the science wing.
Students stand at their lockers, swiping on their phones or talking with their friends. Abby had been so busy these past few weeks that she didn’t have the time to just stop and enjoy life. Between the drama with Owen, softball practice, and busting her ass while studying for history, Abby barely had any time to be social. She passed by the brightly colored posters advertising the school's Homecoming. It was two weeks away, and she had no time to plan anything. It was her last one, for God’s sake! It had to be perfect.
Her brows furrow as she feels something brush against her hand. She quickly moves it away and stuffs her hands in her pocket, confusing you. Abby had been giving you mixed signals all week. She kisses you, leaves you alone the morning after, tells you that she broke up with Owen, and leaves you hanging after you try holding her hand in an almost empty hallway. Abby mutters something under her breath and ducks into an almost empty classroom.
Abby didn’t mind the feeling of your skin on hers; she loved it. She loved everything about you but couldn’t admit that in front of anyone. Loving you meant exploring a side of Abby that had been previously closed off. It was buried six feet under in the graveyard, called her mind. Having feelings for you made everything so much more complicated. You were the first girl she kissed, but not the first she’s had feelings for.
In middle school, she had a friend named Nora. She was smart, loyal, caring, and an absolute beast at tetherball. Nora was at Abby’s house nearly every single day. Her visits to their house got so frequent that it felt weird coming home without her. Abby's dad had resorted to always making an extra portion of dinner for Nora just in case.
Then, something happened. Abby grew between the summer of sixth and seventh grade, and Nora got her braces off. It seems cliche, but their bond grew stronger. They were practically inseparable. Hours spent trying to braid each other's hair or practicing different makeup looks turned into falling asleep in each other's arms. When Abby went home, falling asleep was a little harder without Nora by her side.
The summer between seventh and eighth grade, Nora moved away. Abby never got to say goodbye.
That year, she began dating Owen.
The droplets of water that fell from the sky in the morning had transformed. Fast and hard beads of water beat down on anyone and anything brave enough to face it. The roads were slick and wet, leaving you drenched without proper protection from the rain.
Your bike moaned in protest as you hopped on. It silently begged you to find another form of transportation. The chains pleaded with you to put it out of its misery, but you trekked on.
These past few months were nothing but you and Abby dancing around the fact that there was something between the two of you. Weeks upon weeks of miscommunication and hidden feelings felt like torture. She shut down when you finally had a breakthrough, leaving you high and dry.
You’ll be damned if one of the only good things in your life slips away.
Abby’s house is a few blocks away from yours. The leafless trees do nothing to protect you from the rain as you ride down the sidewalk, completely ignoring the bike lane.
You stop in front of what looks like a home right out of a fairytale. You imagine Abby’s long blonde hair falling down like soft waves over the window and down to the ground below her like Rapunzel. Unlike Flynn Rider, you’d cherish her from the start. Giving her everything she wants and more.
The lights are on, and smoke falls out in wafts from the red brick chimney. You look down at yourself, taking a mental note to take some medicine when you return home, and walk to the front door. You feel like the big bad wolf knocking on Grandma's door.
A man with nearly the same stature as Abby answers the door.
“Is Abby home?” you ask, trying your best to keep the sound of your teeth chattering at bay.
He nods and practically rushes you in. He leads you down a short path to the living room and sits you on the couch. The fire envelops you in its warm embrace and causes you to shiver. The man doesn’t care about the state you are currently in, dripping wet and drenching everything in his home. He’s happy that Abby has finally brought someone other than Owen home.
“Dad, who’s-” her voice falters as she sees you sitting on the couch.
Abby’s dad looks between you and his daughter. He’s seen that look before. A look of longing and guilt is painted across his daughter's face, and he finally understands. He excuses himself and leaves the two of you alone.
“Abby, what are we?”
Your question is one that Abby has been asking herself over and over. She had just broken up with Owen a day prior. It’s too soon.
“Look, I just got out of a relationship and need time to process everything.”
“Then say that!” you practically scream. “I am done dancing around each other. There is something good here. If you want to keep it, then we need to communicate.”
Abby opens her mouth to say something, but you hold your finger up, signaling to her that you’re not done.
“I have spent the past few months taking any small ounce of affection that you give me. You kiss me and then hate it when I try and hold your hand? Talk to me, Abby. Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.” Your eyes well up in tears. “I can’t lose you.”
Your last sentence is what broke her. You were right. Communication was key to any relationship, be it platonic or romantic.
“I’m scared,” Abby sighs, averting her gaze, and continues, “Of what people might think, of what they might say. Everyone in that fucking school loves drama. They’ll make our lives a living hell, and I can’t let that happen to you.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
Abby nods and leans her head on the back of the couch.
“I understand that this might be out of your comfort zone. You’ve just broken up with Owen after God knows how long, and this relationship isn’t exactly…traditional, but Abby, you are the best thing that has happened to me since moving to Washington. I’d rather jump into the freezing lake naked than lose you.”
“I’d jump in right after you.” she chuckles. “I promise I’ll try to be better.”
Abby looks at you for the first time since she sat down. “Since we are practicing this whole 'communication' thing, I think you should go home and change into some warm clothes."
“Right.” You get up and ignore the big, wet mark on the couch as you make your way to the door. It had stopped raining a while ago, but the roads were still wet. Tiny water droplets cling onto your bike, a tiny reminder of what you have just escaped.
“Want a ride?” Abby asks, already retreating to get her keys.
"No thanks. See you later?"
Abby nods and leans against the doorway. She watches you ride off into the distance, trying your best to avoid puddles.
Abby’s dad rounds the corner and crosses his arms, mimicking his daughter. “I like her," he says.
“How much of that did you hear?”
“All of it.”
Abby sighs and bites the inside of her cheek.
He can sense his daughter's discomfort. “Look, Abs, you’re still my daughter no matter who you kiss or how bad of a communicator you are.” Abby cracks a small smile, and he continues, “I love you, kid, and nothing will ever change that.”
The rest of Abby’s day is spent by the fire, watching as it dances along the wooden logs she and her father collected at the start of the season. She thinks about her future and you. She wonders what kind of home you’d like to live in. Whether you’d like to move or stay in Washington, as she wondered about her future, there was always one constant: you.
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Tag list: @rew1nds, @colbyweirdo, @mylettterstoyou
Thank you for reading!
Next Chapter - Coming soon
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sanguisxferox · 2 days ago
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The brush of the vampire’s fingertips to his cheek has Leto’s blush deepening. He’s never felt like that before with anyone. His gaze falters a moment and he runs a hand through his hair nervously. He really feels like a teenager it’s horrible, but also amazing at the same time. “I’m glad you like it.” His gaze lifts up again to meet Levi’s. “I like that you’ll try to remember―” me “what I like.” Neither of them knows it, but this is just the beginning of their journey together and the many times they’ll be sharing feelings without realizing they’re both going through it.
Sadness also fills Leto, though, it’s for two reasons. The first ‘cause Levi’s tale is terrible and he cannot wrap his head around someone doing something like that to another person, let alone this man. He hasn’t known Levi for even one hour, but still can tell in his core that the vampire didn’t deserve it and that Leto would never want to hurt him like that, not now, not ever. The second reason is ‘cause it triggers his own abandonment issues with his mother. “I’m sorry that has happened to you, Levi. I don’t know myself much about being sired, but I do sadly understand intimately being abandoned by my mother in a time of need. How it feels to see everything but you being worth less. I would’ve given the world to have her love again, but no matter what I did, just like you. It was never enough. I found my closure in her passing, but I really hope that you’ll get to speak with her one day to find closure.” Leto speaks softly and from a place of empathy as he gently squeezes Levi’s hand. And similarly to Levi, Leto―selfishly so―is thankful that the vampire had been made or he would’ve never met him.
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“I haven’t travelled like that in a long time. But it sounds amazing!” Not since his father’s death. Everything had just fallen apart after that. Of course Suresh had been there, but from that moment on, Leto had just dedicated his whole life to the Lotus Eaters. Taking a vacation is just complicated for him and too risky. “It’s what you said that made me laugh―the last thing I’d do, is laugh at you. And if you’re an asshole, I’m sure you make it charming as fuck.” There he goes, flirting with the vampire; he just can’t help himself. Everything that he says, every single word, Leto absorbs like a sponge. It’s obvious that he’s listening carefully and genuinely interested in what the vampire shares with him. “I guess I’ll also have to cook for you one day if you let me. And I don’t really go to that bar, but I’ll make many exceptions to see you again.” There’s a pause―months ahead before he can see the vampire again―he’s troubled. Though, he still admits―”I’d love that too, Levi.”
He’s pulled into another kiss and he moans against Levi’s tongue. Leto doesn’t want this moment to stop; it’s too perfect, magical even. When the kiss stops, he half chases after the vampire’s lips pulling away from his. He looks a bit dazed. “I can’t―” What is he trying to say? He doesn’t know. That he’s never met someone like Levi before? That he doesn’t want the vampire to go? That this ain’t normal and he’s right to be concerned and terrified? Is Levi someone sent to fuck with him? “Can you kiss me again?” Though, he doesn’t wait and captures Levi’s lips with his own, kissing him like it’s a dream that he’ll never make again once he wakes up.
Then his phone rings and that’s a ringtone he cannot ignore―it’s an emergency. Leto breaks the kiss; it’d been too good to last. Nothing good ever last for him. “Work’s calling and it’s an emergency. Please find me again when you come back Levi. I really want to see you again―please.” He steals one last kiss and in a flash, he’s gone.
For the first time in his life, he’d been tempted to not pick up.
~Closed
"I'll keep that in mind." And he would, hoping there would be a day that a moment would arise, and he could give Leto that. A hand comes up to wave away the apology, shaking his head, "Don't apologize. I like it." It also helped him learn more about the other without having to ask certain questions. Seeing the soft blush return to Leto's cheeks caused a knot in his stomach he hadn't expected, it was the kind of knot you get when your crush does something that leaves you giddy. For a vampire who was always impulsive he resisted the urge to reach out and brush his fingertips against those blushing cheeks. For once, Levi didn't want to make the first move, he wanted Leto to make them. But the moment he was given the green light; he had every intention of touching every part of this man. Catching the gentle smile only made Levi more enamored with the other. Meeting Leto really felt like his life finally had a meaning, as crazy as it was to think such a thing in their first encounter. Perhaps tomorrow morning he would chalk this night up to some lucid drug infused vision, even if he wasn't on drugs at the moment.
Which is why he was going to keep the seashell safe, to remind himself that this was all real. Leto was real. It was impossible for him to know now, but this little seashell would be the light in his darkness. There would come a time in which he'd be in a very bad situation, because Leviathan was damn good at getting himself into trouble, and the seashell would give him every ounce of power he needed to get out. He'd fight anything, stand up to whatever, whoever, if it meant to make it back to this very spot amongst the other seashells and Leto. And no one had ever given him something so sweet. Normally all his encounters just wanted one thing, some of them didn't even remember his name, but they'd never given him much more than a phone number. He wished he had something to give in return to the other, but he did make a mental note to bring something upon their next run in with one another. Or so he hoped they would run back into each other. "Qui." He smiled, petting the spot where the seashell had nestled in within his shirt pocket.
Levi shrugged at the question about Reyna, unsure of how to really answer the question. "I don't know. I know that is probably a silly response, but truly...I don't know." For the first time in a very, VERY long time Levi can feel a bit of sadness begin to fill him. His brows furrow a little as he tries to process that feeling, giving a small sigh. "When she first left, I was broken. Not because I was in love with her, but because I felt like a failure. I didn't ask to be turned, and it hurt to know that I wasn't good enough for her. That she had chosen me for something, and I couldn't even do that right. I hated her for so long. Nights filled with violence just to spite her because I wanted her to catch wind of the bloodshed and come back. I wanted her to see the monster she truly created by leaving, and I wanted people to hurt the way I was hurting. But...eventually I realized that no matter which way I looked at it...this was my life now." He motions to himself, "And if I couldn't have control over being mortal or immortal, I could control my happiness. So, I began to travel more. I began to embrace the little moments in life, and the beauty this world has to offer. Then...I did begin to miss her. I searched high, low, everywhere I could to find her because I wanted her to see then that I wasn't such a waste. To show her that even monsters could become good enough. That I could be good enough for her and I could take on that position she wanted for me." Instead he chose to shift that need in another way, and thus began his string of one night stands with strangers. At least he was good enough for one night, which is more than he had ever felt. Levi softly chuckles, "And the fucked up part? As much as she fucked me over, I also have so much to thank her for." Like giving him the opportunity to be able to alive long enough to meet someone ike Leto.
Now shifting to a lighter topic of conversation, Levi smiles, "Peru. I really loved Peru when I was there. The mountains, the people, the festivals, just all of it. I'd visit there again in a heartbeat." A bit of background noise occurs then which blocked out some of what Leto was saying and truly Levi had made a mistake when saying 'grandfather' but hearing Leto laugh like that? That officially made him want to keep on making said joke. He gives a big grin when the other thanks him, "Thank you for finding me amusing. Most just think I am an asshole." He was, but that wasn't the point right now. As Leto began answering the questions Levi had thrown his way the vampire soaked up every answer like a sponge. Animals, werejaguar, crepes, wagyu steak, it was all being stored in his mind and he would play it over and over during his time away. Anything to remind him of this man, of this moment. "I have no idea how to make wagyu steak properly, but I'll figure it out. That being said, I'm making you that one day. And as for me, I mostly enjoy exploring a new place. Exploring people, in a lot of ways than one, and going on adventures with whoever wants to go them. Thus we are here." He chuckled at the blood comment, smiling softly, "Fine. I also enjoy beignets and of course crepes. I've got a big sweet tooth. In terms of dishes, a giant bowl of authentic ramen is right up my alley. I like things that can make me feel a little warm when I eat them, like gumbo and soups. And it was my first time at that club. I might return to it when I next visit New Orleans, though." He says, in hopes the other would too. His gaze lingers on Leto when the other looks around a bit, nodding as his response. "Thank you for bringing me here, Leto." And here is where he would return whenever he'd visit New Orleans now, at least once. "This is my second time visiting, but I think it's becoming one of my favorite spots. I have a feeling I'll be returning in a couple of months. If you happen to be around....I'd love to see you again."
It felt like their time was coming to an end tonight, which made Levi want to savor this moment even more. While he didn't have anything physical to give Leto to remember him by, he would have the other remember him in another way. He pulls Leto into a tender, deep kiss. One in which a soft groan escapes into the other's mouth, only making him deepened the kiss more. He lets the kiss end naturally, pulling back with a soft smile, "You are one something else, Leto Truly."
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wroteclassicaly · 6 months ago
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If I wanna write about Steve’s monster cock everyday — I’ll do it!
If I wanna write heartbreaking angst — I’ll do it!
If I wanna write pointless humor — I’ll do it!
If I want to write drama, or a thriller — I’ll do it!
I’ve done it all, and I’ll do it all again!
The point is… my blog, my writing, my rules, my safe space. Don’t like me or my work? There’s a button for that 🩵
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age-of-moonknight · 2 months ago
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“The Past is Present,” Phases of the Moon Knight (Vol. 1/2024), #3.
Writer: Justina Ireland; Penciler and Inker: Daniel Bayliss; Colorist: Dee Cunniffe; Letterer: Cory Petit
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catboyidia · 5 months ago
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zayne would absolutely stay with rafayel on ebb day, and i think zayne would tirelessly care for rafayel and try to understand exactly what’s happening to him so he can try his hardest to find some way to make rafayel feel better, even despite rafayel protesting that he’s fine 🥺 i think zayne would learn everything he possibly can about lemurian biology for rafayel!
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malachitezmeyka · 1 year ago
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Idk why I thought the new year would suddenly bring immense change to me as a person, it was such a childish belief, I can’t believe I let myself fall for it. The years go by but I remain the messed up anxious wreck who starts crying the second she’s left alone with her thoughts. The new year won’t change anything, nothing will
#just look at me#I could very possibly graduate from school in half a year and I still don’t know what I want to do with my life#I can’t take the slightest bit of criticism or else I’ll feel like shit for a week#I need to be staring at a screen at all hours of the day because if I don’t distract myself I will break down#I’m so obsessed with pleasing people that when I can’t fulfill the simplest of requests I want to die#indulging in hobbies. things that are supposed to be enjoyable. feels like hell for me#through all my years of creating there is only one piece I can honestly say I like and am proud of#and I haven’t even touched writing since because I’m scared of not being able to reach that high again#art comes a little easier but I’m only capable of one or two pieces a month#I don’t have anyone irl whom I trust. I’m so lonely that I literally have imaginary friends. at 17#and I still haven’t figured out my gender or what pronouns I prefer. I don’t even like the name I picked for myself#I could go on forever#I don’t know how anyone puts up with me. I know I wouldn’t if I had the choice#I keep going on and on about how I want to get better. I don’t want to be so miserable all the time#but I just don’t know how#I try to be kinder with myself and I’ve been pretty successful at it but.. it doesn’t help#I can be soft and gentle all I want. it won’t make everything else go away#so there’s nothing left for me to do but cry all alone in my apartment at 2 a.m#I guess
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chuluoyi · 5 months ago
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𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄
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- sylus x reader
you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?
genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!
note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)
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“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”
On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.
“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”
“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—
—fell into Luke's arms.
In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—
“What are you doing?”
And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.
“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.
However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”
Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.
“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.
But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”
“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.
As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?
As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.
“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”
“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”
Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.
“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”
You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”
“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”
You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”
It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”
You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”
“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”
“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”
. . .
“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.
Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”
Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”
"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.
“What are you doing?” you frowned.
“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”
“You don’t have to…”
“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”
“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”
Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"
You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”
There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—
But after a while...
Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”
You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.
But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”
Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.
But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.
“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.
“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”
“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.
“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”
If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.
“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”
A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”
Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.
He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.
“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”
“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”
“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”
A wicked grin curved his lips.
“I'll pick up where I left off.”
7K notes · View notes
joelsgoldrush · 3 months ago
Text
“epiphany” | 21k
worst!logan howlett x f!reader
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SUMMARY: Superheroes and mutants weren’t enough. No—the universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. Fantastic, right? Except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the “Worst” Logan Howlett, fresh from another earth.
OR What happens when a hopeless romantic crosses paths with the ultimate soulmate skeptic?
WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ strangers to lovers. drinking. cursing. slow burn. angst. pining. mentions of alcohol. fluff. reflecting on the art of writing/poems/books. dual POV. takes place after the events of “deadpool & wolverine”. TW: multiple descriptions of scars. worst/variant!logan. implied age gap (reader’s in her late 20s). they’re both touch starved. wade’s everyone’s friend. miscommunication/misunderstandings. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering, grinding. some slight hair pulling. unprotected p in v, creampie. sex with feelings.
A/N: HOPELESS ROMANTICS RISE! here we go again with another long ass fic. this is a soulmates AU in which you get your soulmate’s scars. if you feel triggered by this topic, please refrain from reading. i had a lot of fun writing this even though it took me a while to get it done. thanks to @lubdubology for being my beta and allowing me to share my work with you. and also thanks to @brushworth for giving me the chance to write this. having said this, enjoy the story! i’d love to know your thoughts on it <3
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Love giveth and love taketh away.
To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.
If it weren’t for love, you wouldn’t be here. No one would, actually. Human beings are the result of billions of people who loved each other just enough—or at least long enough to bring life into the world.
But isn’t it in the name of love that people act in bad faith? Why would something so pure be used in vain?
You don’t get it, but as the years go by, you slowly come to terms with the idea that perhaps you never will. Not because there isn’t a reason, but because you’re in love with the idea of love.
How could you not be? It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up.
Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.
It had always been a relentless race, your only worry being to catch it before time ran out. But with each day that passed, the finish line only stretched further and further away. Now, they all blur together, to the point where you live and breathe on autopilot. 
In a Jane Austen novel, you’d be considered a lone woman. That character who’s nice, and kind, and loved by some, but not in the way she yearns for. Every time she’s mentioned, you go “Oh, the poor girl,” until the slow realization dawns.
In reality, she’s you, and it’s you who you feel sorry for, not a fictional character. You.
All in all, love giveth. And love also taketh away. 
Love maketh you miserable.
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Soulmates—a nine-letter word that holds so much meaning.
It’s one of those words that you learn early in your life, one you hear at home or on the TV. Your parents never fail to mention it if given the chance. The first time you’re introduced to the topic is at school when you're older, a bit more self-conscious, and no longer preoccupied with picking your nose.
“Everybody has a soulmate. And no,” your teacher had added after a pause, already anticipating the inevitable questions from any curious 10-year-old, “there isn’t such a thing as not having one. We all do. You just have to search for them.”
Back then, that had been your favorite game—always keeping an eye open, scanning the crowd more than once in new places. You knew for sure that more than one person probably thought you’d strained your neck from all the times you glanced over your shoulder.
It must be pretty obvious now, the fact that you’re—well, alone. Saying ‘without a companion’ sounds quite outdated. They can’t see through you, but something in the way you walk or speak must give it away. 
Or is it the fact that you always ask for a table for one?
“Are you expecting someone else?” A waitress approaches you, her tone gentle as she makes sure you’re on your own. A small notebook dangles from her slender fingers, and your eyes catch the name stitched onto her apron: Emily.
The response you give her is on the verge of sounding automatic, robotic even, like one of those prerecorded messages busy people leave on their phones. “No. Just me.”
She nods, and you feel the sympathy in her gaze. You’ve mastered the art of recognizing that look—the one hovering between concern and pity.
Of course, people rarely voice it, but they’ll never know their eyes sometimes say more than they think.
As she jots down your order, you’re met with the ring on her left hand. Very pretty, very shiny. Very expensive as well. Your attention must linger on it a little too long, because she catches you staring, making you feel exposed.
Emily—you decide to call her that way from now on, because once you know her name, it feels odd to address her as the waitress—offers you a shy smile.
“I’m getting married next month,” she blurts out, happiness radiating from her pores. Her eyes glint like two lanterns in a starless night. She also looks younger than you, and the abrupt silence forces you to pinch your wrist, a reminder of the fact that this is a conversation, and not just something you're overhearing.
“Congratulations,” you manage to reply, returning the smile. If she saw how your expression faltered the second she walked away, you wonder if she’d still think you were so amiable.
Sometimes, your façade slips—you can’t help it. That’s what the ‘hopeless’ in ‘hopeless romantic’ stands for.
Some minutes later, she comes back with your coffee, and you catch another glimpse of the ring as it twinkles in front of you. Envy doesn’t suit you, so you shift your focus.
Taking out your laptop, you scroll through the latest headlines. This is your attempt at acting more like an adult and less like a girl in her mid-twenties who has no clue what she’s doing.
One article stands out from the rest: Hollywood Actress Divorces Loving Husband of 25 Years to Pursue Presumed Soulmate. “I saw his scars and knew he was the one.”
Interesting. You can’t help but feel sorry for the displaced husband, though.
“Good for you,” you mutter under your breath, clicking the link to read more. There’s a picture of the actress and her new boyfriend that makes you stop dead in your tracks: they’re smiling at each other, their faces close, noses almost touching, while they show off their matching scars—the unmistakable sign that they’re, in fact, soulmates.
Soulmates, superheroes, mutants. It all sounds like a whole lot, doesn’t it? Overwhelming, to say the least. One thing’s for sure—you’ll never get bored in this world.
But, hey! Don’t forget that there are multiple universes out there. Maybe in one of them, you’re not this pathetic.
Why are you being so hard on yourself? That’s not even the point. Shaking your head, you keep glancing at their scars—they’re identical, perfect mirrors of one another. The kind of scars that only two destined souls share.
Their happiness is evident, tangible. You can feel it by just eyeing the image. It’s a bitter sensation that metamorphoses into a warmth, which heavily spreads through your chest, filling up every empty space it finds. 
To say you understand that feeling would be a downright lie. And you may be many things, but a pathological liar is not one of them.
As if on cue, you duck your head, rolling up the sleeves of your jacket. You do the same with your shirt, foolishly hoping to find something other than smooth, unmarked skin.
No scars. No marks. No sign of a soulmate, of a lover. In the world you inhabit—this universe full of the most inexplicable things—you’re alone. 
Without a second thought, you pack your things, shoving them rapidly into your bag. The cafe feels too little and too large all at once, the walls closing on you.
The rest of the customers are looking at you. Fuck, they already noticed it—you can’t escape it.
Have they? Do you think they see you like you see yourself? The lone woman who writes poems for an addressee who will never read them?
In silence, you hand Emily the money for your coffee. You fear that if you open your mouth, a cry will come out, and that’s the last thing you need today. She gives you that look again—pity laced with sorrow, the one you despise. It burns.
At that moment, a man walks in, passing right by you. You see his face, his green eyes, and the way his lips curl into a grin as he greets Emily.
The scar on her forehead, which you'd missed before, mirrors the one on his.
They are soulmates. 
It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is.
She wishes you a nice morning as you leave the cafe. Little does she know you’ll spend the rest of the day locked in your apartment, mourning someone you never even met.
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Until the day you lost them, you wore your scars with pride.
They were scattered across your stomach, back, chest, and even your legs and arms. Some were shallow, others deep. It never occurred to you—the thought that they belonged in the shadows, hidden.
Everyone has them, you thought as you stood in front of the mirror, running your fingers along their jagged paths. I just seem to have more than most people.
Over the years, you might have changed your hairstyle or the way you dressed, but your scars never did—they’d always been there, and they were yours.
Partly yours, of course, since you knew they belonged to your soulmate as well.
The older you grew, the more you realized having a good memory was both a gift and a curse. You still remembered that moment so vividly—when you found out that somebody out there was meant for you and only you.
A point of no return, that’s what it’d been. From that day on, not a single one went by without you imagining the first encounter with your Prince Charming. 
In the meantime, you dated. A few boyfriends came and went during and after high school, mostly as practice for the real thing, you’d told yourself.
God, you were determined to know everything. To be the best girlfriend ever, so that when you finally met him, he’d be over the moon.
At the age of seventeen, it sounded like a brilliant plan.
You never knew how, but your life became that meantime. All your friends began to find their soulmates: in the supermarket, while traveling, at the goddamn doctor’s office.
Everybody was fulfilling the purpose you’d been taught humans were made for—everyone but you.
The scars multiplied, yet he was nowhere to be seen, remaining out of reach. Your soulmate’s whereabouts were a mystery. What the hell does he do in his free time? was something you used to often ponder. Is he suffering? Does he need help?
“Be patient, give it some time. The less you seek, the more you’ll find,” your mother would say, trying to sound encouraging. Although she was trying to do her best, that phrase alone had the power to make you go nuts.
Be patient? Waiting was all you’d been doing. What was so wrong with you that he seemed to be hiding from you? You didn’t want to wait any longer, no—you wanted to find him. If it meant traveling to Italy like your cousin had to meet her husband, then so fucking be it.
Many nights, sleep eluded you. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, you’d imagine what life with him would be like. What he would look like. You were certain that no matter his appearance, you’d think he was beautiful.
Wasn’t that the whole point of soulmates—that the bond you two shared transcended physical attraction?
Nevertheless, you secretly wished he’d have brown hair. He didn’t need to know, but you had a weakness for brunettes.
On the night of your twenty-second birthday, you were getting ready for the big event when every trace of your scars disappeared.
The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower’s stream, and as you wiped it clean with the palm of your hand, the image you saw reflected on the glass made your stomach do a flip.
There were no scars. No marks. Nothing. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you—it couldn’t be. Scars didn’t just vanish. It was impossible.
But as you lowered your gaze, tracing your limbs again and again, the truth hit you. The marks you knew by heart, the ones that reminded you, He’s out there, somewhere, were gone.
You felt it deep in your chest, too. Every sound seemed louder and clearer: the blood rushing through your veins, each shaky breath you took. Where are they? Your fingers dug into your flesh, intending to ground yourself.
Is he… dead? It was the only reasonable explanation, the rule you’d known all along. You’d read it countless times, memorizing the principles about scars.
The scream that tore from your throat brought your mother running upstairs, and she entered the bathroom with a horrified expression on her face.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, but your mind was already far away. Your whole body shuddered in her arms, a sob slipping past your lips as you crumbled to the floor, desperately hoping it was all a nightmare. “It must be a mistake, honey. I’m sure he’s okay.”
But he’s not, you wanted to tell her. The words, however, never formed—only a broken whimper escaped your lips. Isn’t that what we were taught? Our scars belong to our soulmates; they bind us to them in a way that simple words can’t explain.
It goes deeper than the skin. It delves into our bodies, our minds, reaching into the very essence of who we are. What was once his is also mine, but they’re gone.
He’s gone. He must be, because otherwise, how would you explain this void?
When one’s soulmate passes away, that person will notice the disappearance of their scars. The physical marks that once symbolized their connection fade, leaving no trace. This absence is accompanied by a distinct, unsettling sensation—an awareness of loss that goes beyond the physical, signaling the end of the bond.
A part of you died with him that day.
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The first time you exchanged words with Wade Wilson, you thought he was a total dick.
It wasn’t as if you didn’t know him—not when he was so infamous for that mouth of his. Deadpool: the self-proclaimed superhero with a vocabulary that was 90% profanity, who made cracking jokes while fighting the bad guys look easy.
Super funny? Sure. But not exactly your cup of tea when all you wanted was to crawl into bed and forget the world existed.
He was apparently long retired from superheroing. No one had seen that red, sex-toy-looking suit in ages, which was why you were only mildly surprised as you spotted him hauling boxes into your building on a Tuesday afternoon.
It was late, and you weren’t in the mood for small talk. He’d been there barely a week, yet somehow, he’d already managed to fuck things up. 
You let out a deep sigh, rubbing the crease between your brows. “Look, Wally—”
“It’s pronounced Wade,” he corrected you, trying to edge his face further into the gap between the door and its frame, though you didn’t let your guard down. “You’re pretty rude, you know that?”
“I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and I need to sleep,” you groaned, trying to push him away with one hand. Technically, he wasn’t even asking for something that complicated—he wanted to use your microwave to heat his dinner, since his had decided to stop working out of the blue.
The thing was that you’d had the kind of week that felt like a one-way trip to hell, an important detail he wasn’t aware of. “Go ask someone else. I can’t do charity tonight.”
“You’re the only one who answered,” he said, pressing his palms together in a pleading gesture, his lips curling into a heartbreaking pout. “Please, my lovely neighbor, whose name I don’t know. You wouldn’t want me to starve to death, would you?
“I thought you couldn’t die.” You raised an eyebrow, half-interested.
Wade’s arms dropped to his sides, his eyes drifting downward. “And I thought kindness wasn’t extinct, but here we are.” He spun on his heel, acting defeated and dragging his feet like a scolded puppy. “Can’t believe this is what the world’s come to. I’m sure the Bible says something about treating others how you’d want to be treated.”
Why. Just… why? Some cosmic, divine force from beyond might have been testing you that night.
“Wait,” you croaked just as he was about to step into his apartment—which was literally three meters from yours. His face lit up, expecting you to continue, and you moved aside slightly, signaling him in. “Five minutes and you’re out, okay? I really need to get some rest.”
The rest was history. Wade was just standing there, mesmerized by your microwave as if he’d never seen one before.
You could only hear the faint buzzing sound of the gadget, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers on the counter. He was humming a tune while shaking his head to the beat.
You tried to focus, replaying the guided meditation you sometimes followed to sleep in your mind.
Allow yourself to feel the stillness of this moment. Notice your breath slowing as your body begins to calm. Be the observer of your breath, flowing in and out naturally, as your lungs—
Yeah, it wasn’t working.
“Please, stop it,” you eventually told Wade, whose gaze shifted from the microwave to you, brows furrowed.
“And why’s that?”
“They say it’s bad for your eyes,” you explained, recalling a half-forgotten news report you’d heard on the TV. Whether it was a myth or not, you’d never know. “I believe it’s because of the radiation exposure.”
Leaning back on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. “At this point, I think I’m safe. You, on the other hand… maybe not so much,” he nearly whispered that last part, and your desire to strangle him grew stronger.
Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.
He jerked his thumb toward the pile of papers and books you had on your kitchen table. “So, you’re a writer?” 
“Editor, in reality,” you snapped, your eyelids twitching as you watched him leaf through your stuff. “Wade, don’t touch my things.”
“Sorry, can’t help myself. I’m very curious.” Flashing you a quick grin, he opened your notebook, squinting his eyes as he went through the pages. “But you write too, huh? I’m discovering plenty of material here.”
The bastard. “Give. It. Back,” you snarled, lunging at him and trying to snatch the notebook from his hands, but he was faster, raising it out of reach. “I hope your food explodes in that microwave, asshole.”
“Oh, right. I forgot about it,” he snorted, tossing the notebook onto the couch and retrieving his dinner instead. You stared at him in disbelief, opening your mouth to scold him, but nothing came out. Then, there he was, standing in front of you with his plate and a fork.
Wait. Was that your fork?
“It’s hot, I’ll give you that.” He blew on his food to cool it down, and as he glanced up, he was met with your murderous glare. “Whoa. Want some? You could’ve just asked me. No need to get so angry.”
Calling it a desire to kill him would’ve been an understatement. And the worst part? He couldn’t die. “You’ve got what you needed. Now, can you leave?”
“How long’s it been since you talked to another human being?”
You blinked, feeling the sudden urge to look around, half expecting a hidden camera. “Why do you always answer with another question?”
“All I’m saying is I’ve been meaning to talk to you for days now, but you’re practically living the hermit life,” he said between bites of chicken, excusing himself briefly to chew. “That robe you’re wearing? It’s had the same stain on it since I moved in. Also, your doormat’s buried under a mountain of newspapers, so either you really love trees, or you’ve been avoiding any sort of social interaction.”
If he had been wrong, you would’ve felt much better. But he… wasn’t, and it sucked.
“I feel like I should be scared,” you mumbled after a long stretch of silence, your eyes going round.
Wade did no more than laugh at your troubled expression. “Scared of me? That’s cute. I’m a nice guy, sweet pea. Persistent, sure, but I’ve got a knack for getting under people’s skin,” he said, grinning through a mouthful of food—which, for the sake of your sanity, you chose to ignore.
After he had finished eating, he let the fork fall into the sink, the metal striking against the surface with a piercing echo, making you jump. He stretched his arms with a satisfied yawn, and he seemed determined to leave you alone. “Well, I’ve done my good deed for the day.”
“What do you mean?” you asked, following his movements as he ambled toward the door. “Are you telling me your microwave does work?”
“Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” Wade patted your head, ruffling your hair like you were a puppy who had just learned a new trick. “Good night, peanut.”
From that moment on, the two of you became inseparable. Your personalities clicked in a way you’d never experienced before with any other friend. Wade was loyal to a fault, and he treated you like the little sister he had never had. 
Most importantly, he didn’t pity you—he saw you for who you were, not just someone marked by a lost soulmate. You never told him how much that meant to you, but deep down, you were grateful.
Which brings you to the present day. You’ve been friends with him for over a year, and he’s taken every chance to introduce you to his “weird but lovable” (his words, not yours) group of friends.
“Check your social anxiety at the door, thank you,” he’d tell you every time he hosted a get-together and you were invited.
Somehow, you had managed to bond with them—especially Althea, his elderly roommate, who occasionally forgets who you are despite living next door.
“Remind me of your name again, sweetie? All this disco dust must be affecting my memory,” she’d ask, leaning in close so you’d practically have to shout it into her ear. Then she’d nod, smirking knowingly. “Ah, yes. I thought so. Just making sure.”
She’s quite the character. A real sweetheart if you leave aside the number of times she’s offered you more types of drugs than you knew existed.
Tonight, you’re throwing Wade a surprise birthday party. Among all the party tasks, you’ve handled the decorations and the cake. The room’s a riot of color, with balloons floating lazily from the ceiling and a cascade of streamers draping over the furniture.
Guests start arriving, greeting you warmly, a feeling you once thought impossible. They’re Wade’s friends, sure, but on some level, you like to think they’re your friends now too: Vanessa, Dopinder, Buck, Shatterstar, Colossus, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and Yukio.
As you hear footsteps approaching the door, Wade’s voice filters through the hallway. Panicking, you whirl around to the group. “He’s here! Everyone shut up!” you whisper urgently, turning off the lights and pressing your back flat against the wall next to the door.
Seconds later, the sound of keys jingling fills the air as both Wade and Peter step into the apartment.
You flip the lights back on just as Dopinder pops his much-anticipated party popper. “Surprise!” you all scream in unison, and Wade’s face splits into a grin, unsure of whom to hug first.
“You guys are lucky I’m not armed,” he quips, slinging an arm around Dopinder’s shoulders. “Six years ago, you’d all be dead!”
And you giggle, because… well, what else are you supposed to do?
As you expected, the night unfolds smoothly. You’re having fun, engaging in conversations despite yesterday’s emotional meltdown at the cafe. It’ll be okay—it always is. The food is amazing, the company even better. You remind yourself that romantic love isn’t the only kind that matters—that’s what friends are for, after all, to teach you that lesson.
The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively symphony that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Yukio calls your name, waving her head in front of your eyes, trying to snap you out of your thoughts. “Everything okay?” she wonders, concern flickering in her voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, tightening your grip on your beer bottle. “Just thinking, that’s all.”
You all gather around the cake when Wade’s about to blow the candles. You know he’s preparing himself for a speech. “Another year of spinning around the moon, huh?”
“Sun, you dumbass,” Al corrects him, and you have to bite your lip to keep your laughter to yourself.
“Okay, flat-earther,” Wade shoots back, giving her a playful side-eye. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, right—I can’t thank you all enough for being here. These past few years have been... well, rough on me, to say the least,” he says, glancing down at the cake with a small, crooked smile. “But I’m happy now. We’ve got each other’s back, like a team!”
“Like The Avengers, you mean?” Dopinder pipes up, eyes sparkling with excitement. There’s a moment of silence in which you swear you’d be able to hear a hairpin drop.
It’s still a sensitive topic.
“Next time, give me a trigger warning before you mention them,” Wade mutters in a hushed tone, and Dopinder shrinks sheepishly. “I guess what I wanted to tell you was…” he trails off, his palm covering the place where his heart is, “that I'm glad you’re all here. Being surrounded by the people I love most is the best birthday gift ever.”
His words stir something inside you. Vanessa gently nudges his arm, smiling up at him. “Why don’t you make your wish?”
Wade dramatically drops to his knees in front of the cake, eyes fluttering shut before blowing out the candles, whistles and cheers erupting all around.
Just then, you hear the unmistakable sound of the doorbell ringing through the air. You exchange a curious glance with Wade, raising your eyebrows. “That’s weird. Want me to get it?”
“Nah, I got it,” he says, excusing himself to answer the door. He slips outside, shutting it behind him, and everything returns to normal. For a while, you assume he’s chatting with someone who dropped by to say hi—but that doesn’t really make sense.
“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s been out there so long?” Vanessa inquires, her worry starting to creep in.
“I’ll go check on him,” you tell her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before heading to the door.
But when you open it, there’s no Wade in sight. Just… his toupee—or “hair system” as he insists on calling it, lying on the floor.
Kneeling down, you gingerly pick it up, a strange sensation settling in your chest.
Where the hell did he go?
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After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.
Completely out of character, right? He thought so too. The number of times he'd stepped foot inside a church could be counted on one hand, so why would a man like him resort to religion?
In the past, he had been told he was part of God’s plan, but somewhere along the way, he felt like he had become God’s mistake.
After living a life plagued with loss and constantly in hiding, he wasn’t shocked that his self-worth was in the gutter.
Things only spiraled after letting everyone down, especially after that particular day when things took a turn for the worse. He had prayed, asking God to make him forget.
When that didn’t work, he just drank harder and smoked more. But not even drowning in alcohol and clouds of nicotine could put an end to his struggles—he was condemned to suffer.
In spite of everyone’s wishes, he’s still going strong, stuck with no defined purpose. It’s almost impossible not to fall into a routine that seeks to numb him, to put him under anesthesia—waking up after passing out who-knows-where, finding the nearest bar, sinking into whiskey and the haze of ashtrays.
Then he does it all over again, a never-ending cycle. His self-destructive habits don’t lead him to oblivion; instead, they intensify every sensation, making each memory and emotion painfully vivid. 
Day after day, he convinces himself he’s got it under control. Logan may be tough as fuck, and he may heal faster than anyone else, but his pride is in pieces.
No amount of strength or supernatural abilities can stop the decay he feels inside, the slow rot creeping deeper within him the longer he remains trapped in this life.
He slams the empty glass onto the counter with a heavy thud, tapping two fingers against it. “Again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
The bartender looks at him like he's the reincarnation of all things vile. “I told you—you’re not welcome here. You’re not welcome anywhere. Now get the fuck out of my bar.”
Oh, yes. Music to his ears. If he had a nickel for every time he heard that, he’d be rich. “Just give me one more drink and then I’ll leave.”
“That’s not how it works,” the bartender replies, and Logan knows he’s screwed. Another public establishment he’s been banned from—fucking perfect.
Will there ever be a day where he’s not treated like garbage?
“It does now,” an unknown voice joins the conversation, and Logan glances to his side, arching a brow. The masked man doesn’t let his stare falter. “Leave the bottle.”
“Do I know you, bub?” 
“You don’t, but I know you.”
This serves as evidence of how pliant he’s become. Years ago, he would’ve already wiped the floor with this guy. They didn’t call him Logan “short fuse” Howlett for nothing. But now? He just can’t bring himself to do it.
“Everybody does. I’m the—”
Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.
“—Wolverine.” Once he finishes the sentence, his words taste bitter. Perhaps it’s the venom on his tongue, or maybe it’s just the alcohol from yesterday kicking him again. Either way, both hit hard.
“Yes, you are,” the stranger says, continuing to stare at him, as if Logan’s worth the effort. “And I’m going to need you to come with me. Right now.”
Logan holds his breath. The worst part of it all is that his day’s just getting started. He has no clue who this guy is or why he’s claiming to need him.
But he’s got the wrong man—Logan doesn’t know him, and he sure as hell doesn’t have anything good to offer.
Or so he believed five minutes ago. Life seems to have its own way of surprising him.
Knowing he’ll regret it later, he closes his fingers around the whiskey bottle, chugging the liquor until darkness takes over his senses.
Nighty-night, Logan.
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I'm aware that you're not mine, and nor will you ever be.
I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out
where this need to call you mine stems from. 
You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed
in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.
I’m aware that you're not mine
because I haven't bought you yet;
I hold no claim over you,
nor can I control who touches you and who doesn't.
I want you to be mine,
but no amount of money would buy your soul.
You're beyond reach—someone has already marked you.
I’m aware that you’re not mine, 
and I guess maybe that’s how life is meant to be.
“Bullshit,” you mutter softly into the quiet of your apartment, where the only sound is the echo of your own voice.
Chewing the end of your pen, your eyes narrow as they skim over the poem you’d written over a month ago.
Since then, you’ve been working on refining the details, but something is missing—that you can feel. The flow is awkward, the choice of words stiff. It’s like a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit together. 
You take a long sip from your coffee, tucking both knees up onto the chair you're sitting in. 7:30 a.m., and already, your mind is spinning, diving headfirst into a poem when countless other things are demanding your attention—like, a hundred things, really.
Right now, cracking this piece feels more important than any other task on your list.
Who do you write to? That part is easy—your soulmate. That deceased, probably buried, long-gone soulmate of yours.
It shouldn’t be funny, but there’s an absurdity to it.
Without warning, a memory slips into your thoughts—one girl you used to work with once advising you to change the subject of your writing.
“You should go for some self-love crap. People usually eat that up,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails, red polish smeared over the edges.
Her fingers were a mess, coated in that fiery hue, but she didn’t seem to care as she tapped your notebook with her lacquered index finger. “This is repetitive. Keep writing about the same thing, and people will get bored of you.”
“I haven’t published them yet,” you answered, your voice coming out more high-pitched than usual, betraying the doubt you intended to suppress. Her blue eyes flicked up, studying your face as you slid the now red-stained notebook back into your bag, away from her careless, messy fingers. “I thought… I thought we were supposed to write about what we feel passionate about.”
That managed to catch her attention. Passionate. She let out a laugh—sharp and cold, like something straight out of a villain’s script in a children’s movie. It grated against your ears.
“Sweetie, you call that passionate?” She waved her hand dismissively, standing up from the table.
Taller, older, and more secure—just the fact that she gave you her time should’ve made you feel grateful. “Not to be a bitch, but what you showed me is kind of depressing.” 
Kind of depressing. From that moment on, you kind of hated her. Small victories, though—the agency fired her a year later. You like to think you kind of won that battle.
Still, she might’ve been right about one thing: your writing does fall into patterns. It’s predictable, to say the least—the rhythm, the themes. Even the metaphors you include can be found in several of your poems.
Are you… lazy? Has someone revealed the way to break out of it? If there is, you figure you're fine without it.
You don’t want to write the kind of articles she’d churn out about the latest trends or the five best positions to get pregnant faster. Nor do you want to pick apart celebrities' lives for a flashy headline.
What you do want is to write about love. Real love. Even if you are not the most qualified person to do it. Even if nobody wants to read the words from someone who has never experienced it in the flesh.
And you’ll get there—how? You’re still figuring that out.
As long as you live and breathe, love will remain in your thoughts, haunting you—especially with your muse being the fleeting dream of a soulmate you never got to meet in the first place.
But it’s time to start your day—the real one. The one where you have to step outside the safety of your four walls and deal with reality.
The to-do list assembles in your mind: groceries, that book you’ve been meaning to pick up, emails you need to answer.
You let your mind take over, guiding you through the motions without a second thought. As you head back to your room, you get rid of the comfortable robe you love so much.
Next, your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the bed. Just as you're about to step out of your pajama pants, you notice them.
The scars.
They’re not the same, not the faded lines etched into your skin that you could see every night behind your eyelids. New marks glow against your flesh, each one a map of something you don’t yet understand, standing out like new brushstrokes on an old canvas.
You can’t help but freeze, your breath faltering for a moment, and you nearly trip over yourself. Kicking your pants to the side, you stare down at your hips, thighs, the hollow of your ribcage. 
Tentatively, you press your fingers into the lines, expecting them to fade, to disappear under your touch like some peculiar illusion.
But they don’t. They remain. You can feel the raised edges, the subtle roughness, the heat beneath your touch.
These scars are different from the ones you had before. Under no circumstances are they the faint memories you once carried. No—these are fresh and vibrant. Marks that shouldn’t exist, the stories they’ve witnessed unfamiliar to you.
Within seconds, you’re sobbing, and you blink through the wetness clouding your vision, wiping your tears of disbelief (and maybe hope?) away with the back of your hand.
Nothing changes. They’re still there.
You've never heard of scars returning like this. It goes against everything in the manual on your shelf. Scars vanish when a soulmate dies, but they don’t come back. Not like this. And they certainly don’t change. 
Barely able to stand without stumbling, you scramble to your phone. The first person you call is your mom, your fingers shaking as you press the buttons. She screams into the phone, and all you can do is laugh through the tears.
What doesn’t sit right with her is the change in the scars. She mentions something about reaching out to a specialist, insisting that your case is rare—one in a million.
Almost immediately, you think of Wade, knowing he’d want to hear this. God, he’d be ecstatic. Before you even realize it, you’re standing in front of his door, finger hovering over the bell.
That’s when the realization hits you: he’s been gone for nearly three days, off doing whatever it is he does.
Ringing the bell, a smile tugs at your lips. News like these are meant to be shared.
“Althea, it’s me!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you. You press your forehead against the door, fidgeting with your fingers. “I have something to tell you.”
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Logan has had better days. Days that didn’t involve escaping The Void, fighting a hundred Wades, or saving an earth that wasn’t even his to begin with.
You know, normal days—of being sneered at while drinking to forget and, fuck, how many hours has he been sober? It feels like an eternity.
When the adrenaline wears off and the heroism fades, he’s back to being just Logan again. If he had a watch, he’d probably tap the glass and fake impatience to Wade, pretending he’s got somewhere else to be.
He should leave. That’s his first impulse: to escape before it’s too late, but a question arises in his mind: does he truly want to?
Wade watches as Logan rises to his feet, planning to walk away. Pretty stupid, Logan thinks, considering he knows no one else in this universe—apart from the scarred man he’s become friends with against his will.
“Logan!” Wade yells his name, his voice light but firm enough to halt him in his tracks. Logan turns to face him, greeted by Wade’s familiar, infuriating smile.
It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.
Nothing’s holding him back, so why not accept it? The odds of being the target of hateful glares are lower here, and that’s reason enough for Logan to give a small tilt of his head and return to the bench where Wade remains seated.
“We’re gonna be roommates!” the latter exclaims, a wide grin stretching across his face as they head toward the building. “Can you imagine all the fun we’ll have?”
Logan presses his lips into a thin line. “Looking forward to it,” he murmurs, a small glimmer of sarcasm slipping into his tone, although Wade takes his words at face value.
“Me too, roomie. Me too.”
“Let’s not use that word.”
Wade holds the door open for Logan with an exaggerated bow. “Why not? It’s the truth. We can even share my bed if that’s—”
The sound of Logan’s claws succeeds in silencing him. Wade recoils and covers his crotch, no doubt remembering past close calls.
“You know what? You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. No problem.”
Was moving in with Wade the worst idea he’s had in a while? Absolutely. The reason? Althea, the elderly woman he lives with, isn’t answering the door, and he doesn’t have his keys.
Logan covers his eyes with a hand, silently questioning all of his life choices. And it’s only been ten minutes.
“This doesn’t happen often,” Wade reassures him, rubbing his neck.
“Hard to believe,” Logan mutters, some unknown muscle in his jaw beginning to ache from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “You just leave the house without your fucking keys?”
Wade huffs, jutting out a hip in mock offense. “Those TVA guys didn’t exactly send a ‘We’re here to ruin your day’ memo. I was ambushed, okay?” he retorts, keeping a finger glued to the doorbell, its shrill ring gnawing at Logan’s already thin patience. “Al, I swear to God, I’m replacing your blood pressure pills with laxatives if you don’t wake up!”
“How old is she?” Logan asks, searching for anything to keep him from snapping the other man’s neck. Peaceful thoughts.
“Compared to you, she’s basically a newborn,” Wade replies, rocking back and forth on his heels. He’s having the time of his life—meanwhile, Logan’s self-control is reaching its limit.
His claws twitch in his knuckles. He’s had enough, and with a jerk of his left hand, they gleam as they slide out, ready to break the damn door. 
But then Wade jumps in front of him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there, buddy! I’m not letting you turn my door into a strainer.”
“Move,” Logan barks, not an ounce of friendliness in his tone. His stare is flat, unfazed.
“I’d rather not. You can’t just go around breaking people’s doors, man. Not cool,” Wade blurts quickly, placing both hands on Logan’s chest, pushing him away. “How about I ask my neighbor, huh? I gave her a spare set of keys for situations like these.”
“I thought you said this didn’t happen often.”
“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”
Before Logan can answer back, Wade rushes to the door next to his, slamming his fist on it like a madman, his finger hammering the doorbell simultaneously.
The devil’s orchestra—a symphony straight from hell.
Logan grabs Wade’s wrist before he can knock again, hissing: “Have some manners, will you?” 
Wade tries to shake his arm free from Logan’s tight grip. “She’s in there. I know it,” he replies in the same tone, but now he uses his other hand to ring the doorbell with greater feeling.
After a pause, he stamps his foot on the floor, throwing his head back. “Come on! Is this how you treat me after being away? Shame on you, Missy!”
This neighbor must be very patient, Logan thinks, to keep up with a guy like Wade without often seeing red.
As the door finally swings open, his grip on Wade loosens, and his hand falls limply to his side.
“What… the fuck?”
The sound of your voice—soft, slightly groggy from sleep—pulls his attention away from the door incident. His gaze is fixed entirely on you—you look as if you’ve just rolled out of bed, which makes sense since it’s still early.
Back in The Void, Wade had rambled on about all his friends, you included. Logan recalls how he had described you: a book editor who lived on her own and loved reading. You were younger—but then again, who wasn’t younger than him?
The picture Wade had shown him, with you standing in the background, hadn’t done you justice. He had found you attractive then, but seeing you in person?
You’re… far more than he expected.
More beautiful, for starters.
Fuck. Why is he even thinking about that? He must’ve been staring at you for quite a while—you glance at him like a startled lamb, clearly feeling self-conscious under his unwavering stare.
“May I know,” you start, tightening your robe, “why you were banging on my door like that? I thought I was getting robbed for a minute.” You direct your question at Wade, avoiding Logan’s presence, which makes something tighten in his chest.
He finds the way you stifle a yawn endearing, though.
Okay, that’s enough, he tells his mind. Let it go.
Wade steps in first, dropping his mask on the nearest surface. “Hello, my dear. Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just a few scratches. No, I wasn’t partying—I was kidnapped. Thanks for asking.”
You draw in a long breath, rubbing your eyes to wake up once and for all, and then you proceed to gesture for Logan to enter. Even now, you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. “Do you—would you like to come in?”
Not only are you pretty, but also polite. He nods, muttering a gruff: “Yeah, thank you.”
As he walks past you, your shoulders brush briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through him. A tingling sensation on the verge of being electrifying that has him knitting his brows.
His gaze finds yours, searching your expression to see if you felt it too. But you look away, closing the door to go after Wade.
Great. You must think he’s a weirdo. 
“I’m always up for company, but why so early?” you ask your friend, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “And are you going to tell me what happened the other day? You left without saying anything.”
Wade hops onto a stool at the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child. “You know Al. When it comes to sleeping, she’s like a much older version of Sleeping Beauty,” he replies with a grin, snatching the mug you were about to use for your morning coffee. “Thanks, you’re such a doll.”
“That was—mine,” you sigh, hitting him in the thigh, and Wade winces with a fake whine. “I don’t think I’ve missed you that much. Go back to being missing in action,” you say, grabbing another mug and filling it before raising it toward Logan. “Coffee?”
Logan hesitates. You’re treating him like you’ve known him for years, not minutes. “I’m… good.”
“You sure? I made it fresh, just before you guys arrived.”
“Don’t worry, I’m—”
“I love the chemistry here,” Wade interrupts your conversation, drawing your attention back to him, “but you still got the keys I gave you, right?”
You roll your eyes, blowing on your steamy coffee before answering. “I do, but I want answers first. And I want them now.”
Twenty minutes and a rambling, half-coherent story later, your drink has gone cold, and Logan’s patience is wearing thin… again.
Will he survive sleeping under the same roof as Wade? Stay tuned for more.
“And then I told Paradox ‘He has risen, babygirl’—”
“I think you’re being too specific,” Logan interjects, noting how you’re staring into space with wide eyes. “She seems confused.”
“I am,” you admit, rubbing your temples. He doesn’t blame you: Wade’s a terrible storyteller. You offer him a weak smile as you turn to him. “So… you’re from another universe.”
“Last time I checked.” His back collapses against the couch, groaning softly. He sits beside you, and the way your eyes sweep over him, taking in his disheveled and sweaty appearance, doesn’t go unnoticed by him.
“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”
“I’m public enemy number one.”
Too harsh, idiot.
“Oh. That’s… good to know.”
Wade says your name, and you look to your right, lifting your brows. “Do you mind if I grab the keys myself? I need a shower. I’ve been marinating in sweat and blood for way too long.”
You grimace, pointing toward your room. “Top drawer of my nightstand.”
With that, he embarks on a quest to find them, leaving Logan alone with you. Silence stretches between you two.
He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything. Casual conversation isn’t his forte.
“You and Wade…?”
Letting out a giggle, you lean back on the couch. “God, no. We’re just friends,” you explain, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. For a fleeting moment, your eyes bore into his, and then you return to burning holes in the floor. “I’m single. Haven’t found my soulmate yet.”
It’s his turn to chuckle now—a dark, humorless sound rumbling in his chest. You chew on a cuticle, Logan’s gesture igniting a sense of curiosity in you.
“What?” you ask him, puzzled.
“Do you really believe in that? Soulmates who share scars?” If he were to think carefully, he’d watch his tone. It’s too late, anyway—you straighten your posture, your face contorting with each passing second. “I can tell you do.”
“And I can tell you don’t.”
“Why would I? Those are lies,” he retorts, the corners of his mouth turning upward.
His opinion is anything but objective, totally biased, given that every time he dove into love’s arms, he was met with the crude reality: not everyone’s meant to be loved, himself included.
The look you give him is enough to wipe the smirk off his face. 
“Soulmates exist, Logan. We all have one.” There’s a certainty in your tone, marked by the subtle way in which you say his name, that he finds alluring. He shouldn’t, especially when you seem angry above all. 
“And where is yours, then?”
He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your expression becomes inscrutable. You could be either disappointed, frustrated, or even exasperated—sad, perhaps?
Logan feels as though a weight has settled on his shoulders just from staring into your eyes.
You strike back with silence. Plain, pure, dreadful silence that has him wondering if he’s breathing properly.
At long last, Wade comes back from his expedition, keys dangling from his fingers. “It was quite the treasure hunt, you know? You’ve got a lot of garbage in there.” He sticks his face between Logan’s and yours when you don't answer him. “Guys, is there something wrong? Are you doing a staring contest? If so, can I join?”
“I need to start getting ready for work,” you announce, standing up from the couch. Logan mimics you, and you open the door, your fingers curling around the knob. “You should get going. And Wade,” you pause, acknowledging only him, “I need to talk to you later. In private.”
Without Logan. That’s what you wanted to say but didn’t.
“Sure, my queen. I live to serve,” Wade says in rejoinder, and he kisses your forehead briefly, which forces Logan to avert his gaze the whole time his lips are on you, feeling uncomfortable watching. “Take care, alright?” 
You give Wade a small nod, waiting until he’s outside your apartment to glance at Logan.
“Goodbye,” you croak, and he knows he should say something, that he—
The door almost closes on his nose.
Had he been an asshole? He was merely expressing his thoughts. The idea of soulmates didn’t sit well with him.
Once settled into Wade’s apartment, Logan steps into the shower, water rinsing off his body. Yet he finds himself unable to stop thinking about you.
The disappointment in your eyes when he asked about your soulmate.
The coldness in your tone at the end, so different from the warmth you initially offered.
He feels drawn to you, as if some sort of invisible string is tying the two of you. Were it possible, he would use his own claws to cut it, but he can’t discern where it begins or ends. Instead, he prefers to blame his touch-starved state for this reaction. 
He’s already hating this earth. So much for a man whose skin refuses to scar.
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And where is yours, then?
His words shouldn’t have stung the way they did. All the charm—the gruff exterior, the mysterious personality—had vanished.
The guy from another universe, with the claws, the healing abilities, and the raspy voice, is a moron.
A ridiculously good-looking moron? Yes, but a moron nonetheless.
There is something about him you can’t quite place. A chill creeps down your spine as you replay the instant your eyes first locked. Your body had reacted in ways it never had before, drawn to him like metal to a magnet.
Why? You’d seen handsome men before, even been with some. Yet, you’ve never felt this—this gravitational pull, this inexplicable pull to invade someone’s personal space.
How would your soulmate feel if he saw you like this, lusting after another man?
You shudder at the thought. This isn’t like you. You pride yourself on loyalty—perhaps a little too much. You don’t read two books at the same time, and you’ve been buying the same brand of shampoo for the past five years.
So why now? Why him? It feels like a betrayal of your own mind, your conscience turned against you.
Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.
After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.
That afternoon, as you take a nap on the couch, he invades your dreams. It’s not even a wet dream, but he’s there, staking a claim on a part of you he has no right to.
You wake up with your hand clutching your chest, a frustrated punch landing on the nearest cushion.
The next day, you drop by Wade’s place for a quick visit, your eyes darting around the room every few seconds, half-expecting Logan to appear out of nowhere.
“I told you, he’s sleeping. That guy’s got a fucked up sleep schedule,” Wade says, urging you to take a seat beside him at the table. “Why don’t you wanna see him?”
Because he’s messing with your sanity. Your brain cells are practically disintegrating at the mere thought of breathing the same air as him.
“I just—I need to tell you something.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“What? Wade, no! You’ve been gone for three days—pregnancies take months.”
“I’d make an amazing uncle, though.” He grabs your hand between his, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Babies are so adorable at that—”
“My scars are back,” you cut him off, putting an end to his nonsense. Pulling the neck of your sweater to the side, you show him the thin lines etched into your collarbone. “But they are different this time.”
“Different? You mean they changed?” His disbelief is clear as he reaches for your arm, frowning while he inspects more of your scars. Wade’s jaw slackens, color draining out of his face. “Fuck. Fuck!”
“Fuck?”
“Yeah, fuck!” His strong arms envelop you, and you lean into the embrace, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Is this good news? Are we happy? Does this mean I have a shot at becoming an uncle after all?”
You laugh a little at his eagerness, rubbing gentle circles into his back. “I am happy. I just—I don’t know what these changes mean yet.”
Althea steps out of the bathroom, her cane tapping the floor in rhythmic beats. “I already told you what they mean.”
Wade pulls away from you, glaring at her. “You meddler! Haven’t we talked about not eavesdropping? Hasn’t life taught you anything after all these decades?”
“Upside of being blind: I’ve never seen this motherfucker in Crocs,” she says, pointing her cane at you, though you know her aim is Wade. “Downside of being blind: I hear everything in this apartment. And you, kid, have a new soulmate.”
“I know what we talked about the other day, but... it doesn’t make sense, Al. You only get one soulmate,” you protest, feeling the tension grow as you pace around the table. “Why can’t it just be simple? My friends are getting engaged, years are flying by, and I’m still out here chasing this… this idiot who no one can even find!”
That’s when Logan appears, emerging from his room, holding several empty beer cans. He rolls his eyes and walks straight into the kitchen. “Great. Who else is coming tonight?”
Wade smirks, clapping a hand on Logan’s shoulder as he looks at you. “Sweetie, Logan’s going through his second puberty at the ripe old age of two hundred. The pediatrician said it’s just hormones, nothing to worry about. Excuse his shitty attitude.”
With a low groan, Logan shrugs off Wade’s hand, scowling. If anything, the younger man’s grin just grows bigger. “Wolvie, I gotta admit that whole ‘Don’t fall in love with me or I’ll break your heart’ personality shouldn’t turn me on, but here we are.”
You decide to take that as your cue to leave. You grab your bag, muttering a quick goodbye to Althea as you head for the door.
But Logan calls after you. “Can we talk?”
You freeze, your back to him. “How much did you hear?” you ask, not daring—not being able—to meet his gaze.
“All of it,” he admits after a beat, and you curse under your breath. “But it doesn’t—Hey!” He follows you into the hallway. “I’m talking to you!”
“No, you’re not.” You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking as you try to unlock your door. “Leave me alone.”
“I won’t,” he mumbles behind you, his voice softer now. “Come on. Don’t be so harsh.”
“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, finally finding the right key and jiggling it into the lock. The door swings open, and you step into the safety of your apartment. But when you try to close it, Logan’s foot wedges into the gap, blocking it. “Get out.”
He doesn’t budge. “No.”
“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”
“Well, me neither. But I owe you an apology.”
You wonder if he realizes the hold he has on you. No matter how hard you try to mask it, the unbearable pounding of your heart betrays you.
Scanning his features, you trace the rugged contours of his face with your eyes, lingering on the lines on his forehead—the aftermath of what it looks like a life lived through bitterness and pain.
“Can I come in?” he insists, his tone on the verge of sounding pleading.
You hesitate. The sensible part of you screams to send him away. Thinking that avoiding him would be as easy as stealing candy from a baby is a long-forgotten idea now: you’d been naïve to even consider it possible.
He’s going to find a way to sneak into your space, your home—and you’ll let him in. You’ll grant him a chance to cross a boundary that should’ve been already drawn.
It feels like you’re fifteen again, infatuated with the guy you know you shouldn’t get close to. Paul from high school wasn’t your soulmate back then—Logan isn’t now.
The smart thing would be to take a step back, accept his apology, and ask him to leave. That’s how you preserve what little remains of your sanity and protect your heart, which is already hanging by a thread.
But God, it feels so good to be near him.
You step aside. He walks in. Something tells you this won’t be the last time.
“I’m waiting.” You stay near the counter, pressing your back against it, and keeping your distance. Logan sits awkwardly on the edge of your couch, unsure of where to begin.
“Look, about what I said yesterday…I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere, earnest. “I didn’t know you believed in soulmates.”
“It’s not a matter of believing in them or not, Logan. My soulmate is out there—yours too.”
Your words coax a grin from him, and he shakes his head. “I guess we’ll never see eye to eye on that.” In a fluid motion, he crosses the room, and you find his unexpected proximity a bit exasperating. “Do you forgive me?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Give me a break, darlin’. I’m trying my best.”
“Well, you were an asshole.”
“Yes.”
“The first time we exchanged words.”
“Also yes.”
“And now you’re apologizing.”
“Positive. I just did.”
It’s not that you’re easy—it’s Logan’s persuasive allure that gets to you.
“What else can I do to win your forgiveness?” he wonders aloud, his syrupy voice making you tighten your grip on the counter.
An idea sparks in your mind. You move toward the pile of books next to the TV, eyeing the titles, until one catches your attention: your copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, one of the first novels you’d read when you were younger.
It’s adorned with colorful post-its, and the pages, sort of rough to the touch, are marked with handwritten notes in the margins.
“How do you feel about reading?”
“Not my strongest suit,” he answers, arching a brow as he takes in your enthusiasm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“You want me to believe you’re sorry for what you said? Then read this,” you say, wiggling the book in front of him, “and we can start over.”
“What is it about? Let me guess: love and soulmates. Did I get it right?” he asks, playfulness lacing his tone. His breath hitches as you press the book against his chest, silently urging him to take it. His pinky grazes your hand, feeling your skin and sending a jolt through you.
Logan watches you with half-lidded eyes, and it takes every ounce of willpower to tear yourself away from him and his maddening touch.
You clear your throat. “Open it to page one hundred fifty-three.”
“Do you—you remember specific pages?”
“And read what’s underlined in black,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed for an instant. “Please.”
Logan must mutter something along the lines of ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ before searching for it. It’s only then that he begins to recite the passage:
He is not to them what he is to me. He is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; – I am sure he is – I feel akin to him – I understand the language of his countenance and movements; though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other light than a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he cannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered: – and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.
You’ve chosen a damn good page.
Logan looks up from the book, his mouth slightly parted, as if he’s about to speak. You interject before he can find the words.
“You’ve got a week to read it.”
“How long is it again?”
“Four hundred pages.”
He surrenders, sighing in defeat. “You’re killing me here, y’know?”
“Write an opinion essay if possible.”
Right there, Logan offers you a mock laugh. “Haha. That’s so funny.”
“It is for me,” you talk back, unable to hide your smile from him, and soon he mirrors your expression. 
As Logan steps toward the door, he hesitates and glances back. “We’re all good then?”
Leaning against the doorframe, you raise your chin defiantly. “We’ll be when you finish the book.”
What he says next has your stomach turning into knots. “You’re trouble.” His tone shifts—no longer teasing, but grounded in truth. Gone are the jokes; he seems to mean every word.
For the rest of the night, one line from the book doesn’t stop echoing in your mind—the line about soulmates: I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. 
You’re trouble for him, and he’s trouble for you. You hope he knows it too.
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He thought that not seeing you for a week would snuff out his feelings. That by next Wednesday, every thought tied to your name, every urge to uncover the last of your secrets, would be extinguished.
That's what time usually did: it diminished dangerous desires that couldn't afford to be voiced, and buried those longings that had no place in the light of day.
Logan now figures he’s been underestimating the spell you cast on him with just a few glances and the intensity of your eyes. He’s seen you animated, angry—both defiant and vulnerable.
Each of your gestures feels like a memory he can’t quite place.
The way you laugh, the right corner of your mouth lifting just slightly higher than the left—he swears it isn’t the first time he's seen a smile brighter than the sun.
Still, he convinces himself it’s all in his head. He must be the one losing his mind, the years finally catching up to him. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the thoughts that consume his every waking moment.
He’s wrong—you’re right. He’s seeing things where there are none—you’re simply too kind.
Too kind. Too young. Too damn clever for your own good, with your books and that sharp mind of yours. He wonders how you see yourself.
Do you like the reflection in the mirror? Are you content with the way your life has turned out?
Do you, too, lie awake at night, the bed stretching endlessly, aching for a touch that never comes?
The walls in this place are paper-thin. When darkness falls, and the moon rises, the big, scary Wolverine can’t close his eyes.
Instead, he listens.
Some nights, you play the same movie on repeat—a romantic comedy that lasts exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. For two hours straight, he’s privy to your laughter, your commentary at the characters on the screen.
He hears you cry when the lead couple drifts apart after a terrible argument, but they always find their way back to each other, and you watch every second until the credits roll.
None of the other films you pick ever ends in heartbreak, he realizes. They all have happy endings—the kind you wish for yourself.
One way or another, there must be a way to get you out of his system. He knows, without a doubt, that you wouldn’t want him. He’s not your soulmate, and it’s clear that finding that person has become the center of your existence.
Logan can’t allow himself to be the moron who derails your purpose.
Sure, he’s done bad things, but he likes to believe that at least a part of him—some small fraction—hasn’t been lost yet. That there’s a piece of him that can be saved, which is the reason why he stayed here: to be a better man than the one he was in his universe.
But it’s hard. Harder still because it’s you who disrupts his quest for redemption. How is he supposed to go on with his life when every thought circles back to you? The idea of holding you, kissing you—sleeping beside you haunts him.
And so the images blur, new dreams twisting with his usual nightmares.
Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.
One afternoon, while deliberately steering clear of Jane Eyre, he reluctantly turns to Wade in search of answers. “Tell me more about her.”
Wade, lounging on the couch, stops scrolling on his phone and drops it onto his chest, drawing his eyebrows together.
“Her? Who do you mean?” His tone oozes with feigned innocence, barely containing a shit-eating grin when Logan grits out your name, his tone rough, almost pained. “Oh, Romeo. You’ve got it bad.”
Intending to maintain some semblance of control, Logan strides into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the last bottle of whiskey. As he tips it, only a few drops fall into the glass.
“No, I don’t,” he says, extending his arm and holding the bottle up. “We’re out of whiskey.”
“You keep saying we, but you’re the only alcoholic in this apartment.” Wade kicks off his shoes, propping his feet on the coffee table. “So, why the sudden interest in the lady? She getting through that tough exterior of yours? I’ll give her points for that.”
“And you wonder why I don’t talk to you.”
“I saw the book,” the younger man replies, lacing his fingers behind his head, watching as Logan rummages through the fridge with increasing frustration. “You never told me you were into classics. If I’d known, I’d have gotten you a copy of Pride and Prejudice.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who came to me, looking for the essential oil of truth?”
The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable, mood-killing.
“See what I just did there?” he adds, and Logan feels forced to shake his head from side to side, appearing conflicted. Wade lets out a low huff. “That was Virginia Woolf. Add her to your reading list.”
“Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?”
“More times than I can count. I’m just not everyone’s cup of coffee.”
“Tea, Wade. Not everyone’s cup of tea.”
“Whatever.” Wade simpers, as though Logan’s correction is the punchline to a joke only he gets. He sets his palms flat on the table, looming closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what would you like to know about my dear friend?”
Logan hesitates, the weight of his question heavy on his tongue. “What’s the deal with her scars?”
The air shifts. Wade’s playful expression fades and he tilts his head, his tone turning serious. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell,” he begins, gaze dropping to the floor. “But she lost them years ago. She was living a normal life, and one day, they were just—gone, like they were never there. It broke her. We didn’t know each other back then, but you’ve seen her.”
Wade’s eyes flick back up, while Logan stands there, tongue-tied. “You even know the kind of books she reads—nothing can shake that belief in real love, in soulmates being destined. Imagine how she must’ve felt when she found out her presumed soulmate was dead… without a single warning.”
From what he had heard, that sense of loss was impossible to put into words. Those who’d gone through it described the experience as if half of you—your body, your soul, your very essence—was being ripped away.
The pain was excruciating, and the only way to survive it was by means of tolerating it—no remedy, just the endurance to outlast the agony.
It wasn’t just a momentary hurt. It was the kind of torment that lingered, making you question who you were and what little remained of you.
You and Logan had more in common than he’s willing to admit.
“She’s a good person,” he mutters absent-mindedly, his thumb grazing the cover of the book. He had carried it everywhere for a week now, without even cracking it open.
“Oh, you dirty pig…” Wade whispers, his eyes lighting up as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his mind. “Now I get it. You wanna know her. Like, really know her!”
“I don’t—”
“Your sex life is none of my business. I’m all up for you putting your mutant dick to work, otherwise it’s just wasted potential. But it’s my friend we’re talking about.”
Logan’s jaw tightens, and he snaps. “Drop the speech, alright? I’m not trying to get into her pants. I just want to be nice. That’s all.”
“Nice, huh? What’s your version of nice? Starting a two-person book club?” Wade stifles a laugh, pressing a finger to Logan’s chest. “Look, if you want to sleep with her, and the feeling’s mutual, then go for it. Just tell me this—how long’s it been since you visited Pussy Village? Was it before or after the Big Bang?”
Things are never truly serious with Wade Wilson. “I’m not answering that.”
Wade raises both hands in surrender, still chuckling. “Fine, fine. But if you’re really interested, just be clear about it. She doesn’t need a half-assed situationship.”
By now, it’s like a mantra he repeats again and again, hoping that eventually both Wade and he will start to believe it. “I don’t want to have sex with her.”
As he heads back to his (now Wade’s old) room, Wade adds, “I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you underlined some quotes you like.”
Much to his dismay, that’s exactly what Logan does.
His handwriting isn’t the most legible, but he tries his best, leaving notes in the margins of some pages, such as:
I hate this John kid.
Her aunt is a cunt.
This is too cheesy.
Mr. Rochester’s married?
St. John—what a prick.
He finishes the book at 7 a.m. A long-ass book—just for you. While getting ready for work, Wade calls him an unemployed fucker, and Logan knows nothing better than to shoot back a similar insult, stretching his arms as the first rays of sunlight creep through the curtains.
Wade was right about something, even if Logan himself doesn’t wish to admit it: he’s behaving like a teenager—staying up until dawn, practically chained to the bed without daring to go out. Falling for a girl he didn’t know a week ago.
Learning to control his impulses has been a hard task, especially with his temperament. Over the years, Logan thought he’d mastered the art of self-restraint, long past the point where his body moved without his mind’s permission.
As his feet carry him down the hall toward your apartment, he recognizes how wrong he is.
This is a terrible idea, he thinks. And yet, his fist knocks on the wood. Three times.
Fuck.
The door opens just a crack. You peek out, your face barely visible, eyes puffy from sleep. “Logan?”
His name isn’t a fancy one. It’s pretty normal, pretty standard. There must be a thousand other guys named like him—yet it’s only when you say it, your voice turning it into something rare and unique, that it feels different, like it’s only his.
The tone you use with him isn’t the one he’s used to: Logan, you’re a disappointment. Logan, how dare you turn your back on your friends? Logan, they’re all dead. Logan, it’s your fault.
Yours is inviting, and warm, and new. He likes new.
“I just finished it,” he answers, holding up the book, mindful not to grip it too tight as not to crumple the pages.
You scratch the back of your head, blinking at him. “You just finished it… at 7 a.m.?
Yeah, it sounds stupid now that you say it out loud, but it’s true. Hoping his reaction is enough to explain what he can’t put into words, he gives you a slow nod.
This time, you don’t wait for him to say more. “Come in?”
Yes, this is what he’s been looking forward all week. This moment, this interaction.
This Come in. This Yes, thank you. You’re so kind.
His quiet acceptance of your invitation, the unpronounced thought of I don’t deserve this, but I can’t back off now, because how could I ever say no to you?
He follows you into the kitchen as you move to make tea. “Want some?” you ask, but he declines the offer. If he were to drink anything right now, it would be something much stronger, not tea, despite the early hour. “You’re here to talk about the book?”
“Well, you told me I could come back after reading it.”
“I did,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hide it behind your mug. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so punctual.”
You don’t need to know that he’s been counting down the seconds, marking each minute in his mind since the last time he saw you. That’s a detail he’ll keep to himself. “It’s a good story.”
“Tell me about it.” You smile even wider, and he takes a moment to absorb the details of your face—the crinkles by your eyes, the way your nose scrunches when you’re amused. “I lent you my most precious book. Fell in love with it years ago.”
“I can see why you liked it,” he explains, flipping through the pages to find the one he marked. “All the romance and the yearning—”
“Hey, it’s also good for other reasons,” you try to defend yourself, but any other argument dies on your lips when he finds the passage he was looking for and begins to read aloud.
“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now,” he recites, his voice lower, almost reverent, as he looks up from the page to meet your gaze. “It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.”
You seem startled by the sharp sound of him closing the book. He’s sort of breathless, and from where he stands, he can tell you are too. “That’s one of my favorite passages.”
“I can’t blame you for believing in soulmates if this is the kind of thing you read growing up,” he teases, handing the book back to you.
Though a part of him almost wishes he didn’t have to—so that it would still be a reason, a tether, pulling him back to you again and again.
Grinning, you take it, your eyes remaining trained on his. “I happen to notice it hasn’t changed your perspective on soulmates.”
“It’ll take more than a book.”
“This is, in my opinion, one of the best love stories ever written. How else will I convince you?”
“Why do you feel like you need to convince me?” He takes a step forward—you take a step back. “Why can’t it be the other way around? I might end up being the one who convinces you.”
“You could never,” you respond, clasping your hands behind your back. “It would be like convincing me the sky is green instead of blue.”
Logan retreats slightly. “Don’t you get tired?”
“Of what?”
“Of waiting. Of always being on the lookout.”
You don’t react badly to his question. You’re not even shaken, not fazed in the slightest. “When I meet him, I’ll know all the waiting was worth it.”
“And in the meantime?” Logan inquires, pressing himself further into your intimacy, edging closer as if testing the boundaries you’re willing to cross. His words are a subtle request for more, for answers. “What will you do until you find him?”
If you ever do, he thinks, but it’s left unsaid, lingering in his thoughts. He’s getting better at not saying the things that sit heavy in his chest without thinking.
“I think you misunderstand, Logan.” You study him through your lashes, and he feels he’s become the keeper of your most sacred secrets. “It’s not about waiting as if my life’s on pause. I’ve been with other people. But in the end, I want to choose him.”
That casual admission strikes him like a wave of cold water. A flicker of jealousy burns at the edges of his composure, though he tries to smother it.
I’ve been with other people, you say, your tone so nonchalant, and yet the mental images that flood his mind are anything but comfortable.
He imagines someone else standing in your kitchen. Perhaps in five minutes, there will be another man knocking on your door, here to discuss a book, and it won’t be him.
Perhaps this isn’t rare for you—all this come in, grab something to drink, let’s talk when you’re done reading.
Perhaps he’s not as important as you make him feel.
His thoughts spiral until your voice pulls him back from the brink.
“Don’t you understand how beautiful it is?” There’s a dazzling glint in your expression, a light in your eyes that makes him ache. “Outside of these four walls, there’s a person who’s waiting to meet me, in the same way I expect to meet him. I can’t grant myself the choice not to believe in something like this.”
Far from easing the martyr in his mind, this conversation only deepens his internal struggle. The questions overlap each other: what happens if you never find him? Would you ever consider settling for somebody else?
He rephrases that last one—would you ever consider being with him?
“He’s a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs, and just like that, he feels himself slipping deeper, falling into the rabbit hole with you guiding him through the madness.
For a moment, he can pretend—pretend that matching scars and bonds that defy the rules of his principles make sense.
Maybe, just for you, he’ll allow himself to believe it.
Your eyes soften with sudden emotion, glistening with the beginnings of tears. He feels the primal urge to reach out, to cup your cheek, to be there when the first tear falls. “You think so?” you ask, your voice fragile.
I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now.
“Of course I do,” he replies, his tone quiet but laden with a strange, undeniable truth.
It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.
Whatever this is between you—it’s messed up. He’s messed up. And you… you’re just as tangled in this chaos for indulging it, for looking at him in that way that calls out to him.
The more time he spends with you, the less he feels like himself. Everything he’s done lately—reading that damn book, standing in your apartment at 7 a.m.—none of it feels like something he’d do.
It’s not just his mind you’re messing with: it’s his very sense of self.
Logan’s smart mouth had always been a liability, getting him into trouble either by saying too much or by choosing the wrong words. Bad things had always followed in the wake of his tongue.
Somehow, when it comes to you, he’s the most careful he’s ever been. He doesn’t want to upset you, nor does he want to be the cause of any sorrow that might affect your heart.
When the two of you stand at the threshold once more, just as you have other times before, you softly say: “I feel like I’m experiencing a déjà vu.”
He laughs, because it sounds ridiculous. “Care to explain why?”
“You come, we talk, you leave.” You lean against the wall, your hand ghosting over the handle. “But you never stay that long.”
There’s no mistaking the layered meaning in your words. You, who work with language and its peculiarities for a living, never speak by chance—every phrase, every pause, carries an assigned weight. The double meaning in your statement doesn’t escape either of you.
You’re a natural at this madness, diving headfirst into it. You must be losing it, too, because your actions don’t match what you said before.
Slowly, his fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the perfect excuse to feel your skin, to close the distance without saying what he actually wants.
They say food and shelter are the basic human needs, but Logan chooses to believe they forgot to include the longing to reach out and just feel you.
“I can’t stay,” he finally responds to your earlier comment, his hand still lingering against your skin.
His strength—the only thing saving him from completely giving in—helps him pull himself away.
Before the impulse to kiss you becomes too overwhelming to resist, Logan leaves.
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Some time later, you’re making lunch, music playing softly in the background at the same time the city’s distinct noise finds a way to break through your tranquility.
You rely greatly on the knowledge that you’re good at multitasking—now more than ever, with a book in one hand and the other stirring the pasta on the stove.
The warmth from the pot rises around you, but you trust yourself not to be careless. Not to be stupid enough to burn yourself with the boiling water.
This time, you miscalculate. Not only do you dip the wooden spoon into the pot, but your fingertips too.
Though it only lasts a second, and the voice in your head instantly screams Hot! Hot! Hot!, the shock makes you drop the book to the floor. You yank your hand back, racing to the sink to run it under cold water.
“Fuck,” you grumble, watching the skin redden in protest. “Lesson learned: no more multitasking.”
The funny thing is, just a door away, Logan’s watching a movie with Wade when he feels a sting in the tips of his fingers.
It’s barely there, practically faint, but he looks down, inspecting his hand like it doesn’t belong to his own body. His skin briefly flushes with irritation before returning to its normal state.
Wade notices his distraction. “Hey, you okay?”
Logan pays no mind to it. “Sure. Just felt something strange.”
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Is it still called avoiding if you’re both doing it? You’d like to think so.
For the sake of clarity, let’s say you’ve been actively avoiding Logan, but truth be told—he’s been avoiding you too. That last encounter in your apartment didn’t help matters at all.
If anything, it made everything worse.
You’ve been down this road before, knowing men like him too well: they’re everywhere, until they’re not.
One day, they vanish without a trace, leaving you staring at the empty space they used to occupy, asking yourself ‘What happened to my Prince Charming in disguise?’
They disappear as though they never existed, and not even the best detective can track them down.
So far, your avoidance strategy has worked wonders. Maybe it’s for the best. He’s a distraction—an undeniably attractive one, the kind anyone would want to trip over.
Yet you miss him, which is dumb: why are you missing someone you were never supposed to care about in the first place?
You return home after a long trip to the grocery store, arms laden with bags. It’s the kind of errand that exhausts you, though you keep telling yourself it’s better than thinking about him.
As you struggle to get through the building's exit, you resign yourself to the fact that it’ll take several trips to bring everything up to your apartment.
Then the elevator doors slide open, and you drop everything to the floor.
You should’ve known better than to assume victory so soon. After days of successfully avoiding him, there he is.
And of course, it’s when you look your worst—tired from running around, weighed down by groceries, barely holding it together.
“Hey,” he greets you, standing just outside the elevator, like he’s not sure if he should step inside or stay where he is. He’s dressed in a red-and-black flannel shirt, layered over a white vest, a leather jacket tossed over his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that seem made for him.
He looks... ridiculously good.
“Hi,” you manage to answer after a beat, scrambling to collect the bags you’d dropped. “Just—give me a second.”
“Let me help you,” Logan says, ducking down to gather the groceries, but you pull them away.
“I’ve got it. Are you going out? On a date, maybe?” You nod toward his clothes, trying to keep things light, teasing even.
Glancing down at himself, a crease appears between his brows, and in one swoop, he gathers all the bags with a single hand. “I’m supposed to meet Wade at a bar, but he’ll survive without me.”
“Logan, you don’t—”
But he’s already moving, one hand tugging you out of the elevator, the other gesturing toward your apartment.
“Not up for debate,” he mutters. Then, without waiting for permission, he holds out his hand. “Keys.”
Sighing, you dig into your pocket and drop them into his open palm. He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping inside and placing the bags on your kitchen counter.
As he starts to unpack them, you stop him. “You really don’t need to do that.”
That seems to catch his attention. He pauses, turning toward you with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter.
His unrelenting stare sizes you up, and he cocks his head to the side. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
He thinks he’s so discreet, so smooth. “Well, I’ve been busy,” you explain, fiddling with the frayed edge of your sweater, tugging at it like it might unravel your nerves.
You hear him click his tongue. “Been busy too.” His words hang in the air, thickening the atmosphere. Your body tenses, and you stare at his shoes, until— “Sweetheart,” he calls you softly, and your eyes snap shut for a moment, your chin almost pressing against your chest. “My eyes are up here.”
A quick flutter of your lashes brings you back to him, and your chest tightens with the effort it takes to look into his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you ask, praying he’ll let this go.
You watch as his mouth twitches with something halfway between a smile and a smirk. “You already want me to leave?”
“If you have plans, then yeah.”
He huffs out a laugh, inhaling a shallow breath like you’ve missed something obvious. “Wade can wait. He’ll be fine.” His expression shifts, and the playful tone in his voice falls away, replaced by something more raw. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
You can’t help but snort. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t been doing the same.” You walk over to the couch, feeling your legs wobble beneath you. You collapse into one corner, hoping the distance will help you breathe.
Like a shadow, Logan follows after you, sitting far too close. His legs splay wide, so wide they’re almost grazing yours.
“At least I have a reason for it. What about you?” His hand reaches out, fingers closing around yours in a grip that’s both firm and gentle, enhancing your anxiety. Your throat tightens, the room shrinking around you. “I need you to tell me I’m not crazy,” he says, his voice rough and low. “I need you to tell me you feel it too.”
Panic flares in your chest, and you scramble for time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but your voice cracks, the uncertainty leaking through the cracks in your bravado.
He doesn’t buy your acting. “You do. We can’t keep playing dumb. You’re gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind one of these days.”
It’s not just his words—it’s the way he stands so close, heat radiating from his body, the roughness of his hand gripping yours like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.
The intensity of it all weighs on you in ways you can’t even begin to describe, leaving you breathless, caught between denial and desire.
“Logan, this isn’t—”
“What? Okay?” There’s a glimpse of mirthlessness in his tone as he speaks, his forehead furrowing. “I can’t stay away from you, don’t you see it? It feels too good to be wrong,” he utters, inching forward. You know you should take a step back, tell him to stop. Nothing good can come from this. “It takes two to feel these things. It can’t be just me.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to give in.” Blood pounds in your ears, your pulse racing as your heart hammers unpleasantly. Little shivers of ice run through your spine, and yet, your stomach burns with desire.
More than ever, you feel yourself slipping, your sanity at risk.
Logan runs his eyes up and down your face, agitated, almost going cross-eyed. “Earlier you asked if I was going on a date. Would you like that? Me being with other people? Kissing another woman?” His hot breath caresses your cheek, and you avert your gaze momentarily. “Answer me.”
Don’t do it. For the love of God, don’t. “I can’t—I don’t—”
“Come on, baby.”
“I don’t want you to be with other people,” you mumble, your lips almost grazing his, and that’s all he needs to grip your chin and pull you into a kiss.
His mouth moves hungrily over yours, pushing you back until the armrest digs into your lower back. A choked whimper gets lost in your throat, and you bring him closer by grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, your chest pressing against his.
Logan bites down on your lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and the moan you let out reverberates in the apartment.
“This is what you were hiding from me?” he rasps, his forehead bumping against yours. “These sweet sounds you make?”
You end up perched in his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. He’s hard beneath you, and as you shift, your center makes contact with his erection through the layers of fabric.
Both of you sigh into each other’s mouths, your hips moving on their own accord, rocking slightly against his clothed cock. He hooks one of his arms around your waist, guiding your movements.
Everything seems to fall into place. Outside your window, birds chirp. The world feels lighter, like a better place. The beast inside you quiets, and for once, your mind is blissfully blank.
Logic? Error 404—not found.
You tug at his hair, and Logan growls, breaking the kiss. “Do that again.” He jerks under your touch, bucking up into you. Encouraged, you pull his hair again, fingers wrapping around a strand at the nape of his neck, and you’re rewarded with a deep groan.
He’s dizzy for it, but you’re no better, not when he trails his kisses down your neck, his mouth latching onto your skin, tasting the sweat and salt.
“I can’t control myself around you,” he murmurs, groping your tits, and you wail, the ache between your legs becoming intolerable. His hands slip under your sweater, caressing the scars on your back.
That’s when recognition settles over you.
What are you doing? And why are you doing it?
He ceases sucking your flesh when you go rigid on top of him. Pecking your lips once again, Logan’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
You don’t understand how he does it, how he can remain so calm. Doesn’t he realize the gravity of this? “We have to stop.”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask me something you already know the answer to.”
His arms drop to his sides, releasing you from his hold. You push yourself off him, away from the couch, putting as much distance between you as you can.
Pressing your palms to your eyes, you shake your head. “God, I’m stupid. This is stupid.”
Your reaction seems to get on his nerves, his frustration somehow increasing. Logan stands, towering over you. “Was it stupid when you were dry humping me?”
“Fuck you, Logan.”
“I’m not the bad guy here. You kissed me back.” He doesn’t let up, trailing behind you as you try to escape. “You want me as much as I want you.”
“Will you stop saying that?” you bark, throwing your arms in the air. Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “Yeah, we like each other. So? Does that make it right? How can you just ignore how wrong this is?”
His expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “Forget your idea of what's good and bad. You're just upset you can't control what you feel.”
“He’s closer than ever.”
Logan gawks at you, his voice bitter as he goes on with his rambling. “That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.”
“You wish you were him, don’t you?” You jab your finger into his chest, feeling his heartbeat, a flutter you choose to ignore. “You want to be my soulmate.”
“Damn right I do,” he practically spits his words, narrowing his eyes at you. “But I’m not him.”
“No. You’re not.”
Everything seems to fall out of place. Outside your window, birds don’t chirp—they scream for mercy. The world doesn’t feel lighter, but heavier. The beast inside you roars back to life, restless and louder than ever, while your mind spins in chaos.
“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” Your voice pierces through the thick silence in the room, and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat.
“If that’s what you want,” he replies, his jaw clenched tight, irritation radiating off him in waves.
“It’s what we both need.”
“Speak for yourself. I don’t have a soulmate.” His tone is biting, but you don’t miss the undercurrent of longing in his words. “But if in any other universe I do, I hope it’s you.”
Your hand turns the knob, and then he’s halfway out the door, sparing you one last glance before he turns his back to you.
No more visits. No more books. No more bruising kisses that leave you questioning your mere existence.
Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.
After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.
It didn’t go well in the end.
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You remember your first heartbreak—seventeen, fresh out of high school. One of your hands clutched a million dreams, and the other, a pillow soaked with your tears.
Your mother remained by your side, caressing your back, attempting to soothe the sobs that racked your body. She murmured that it’d pass, that you wouldn’t feel like this forever. You believed her then, and trusted that things would eventually be okay.
Almost ten years later, another heartbreak shouldn’t come as a surprise. By now, you thought you would’ve developed the tools to survive it. You should be able to piece yourself back together by instinct.
But life, as it turns out, has a peculiar way of catching you off guard.
Whether it’s pent-up horniness, touch-starvation, or genuine affection—it doesn't change the fact that your pseudo-relationship with Logan fell apart.
Though you’re not the one who’s suffering the most. Neither is Logan.
Wade, the third party in this tangled mess, has somehow taken it the hardest.
“I feel like a child of divorce,” he says, his head resting on your lap, eyes distant as they fixate on the peeling wallpaper. “You need to do something about that.”
“I’ll take care of it next month.”
He’s supposed to be the one supporting you, but it feels like the roles are reversed—you’re comforting him, letting him vent.
“My two favorite people now can’t even be in the same room. What are we gonna do for Christmas? New Year's Eve?” Straightening up, he grabs the nearest cushion and buries his face into it to muffle a defeated scream. “Damn it, Cupid! You had one job!”
All in all, Wade’s emotionally unavailable at the moment, grieving your separation from Logan as if it were his own loss, too caught up in his melodrama to be of any real help.
Meanwhile, you fill your days with work, books, anything to keep your mind occupied.
You go to bed too late, you wake up too early. Sleep too little, cry too much.
One thing stays constant—you and Logan don’t talk. Stolen glances in the hallway, awkward elevator rides—those are the only remnants of whatever you once were. Back to being strangers again. 
Well, not really. Strangers don’t know the route to your mouth the way he does.
The ache lingers every day. Missing him when you’re awake is a common occurrence. At night, as you toss and turn beneath the sheets, he stars in your dreams. You can’t recall the last time he wasn’t lodged in your thoughts. 
Where there used to be ideas, creativity, and plots worth scribbling down, there’s now only Logan—a man destined to problematize your stay on earth.
That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.
And yet, despite all of it, you continue to prioritize someone else. Someone who isn’t even here. Clung to the idea of a soulmate, you chose him over Logan.
What did he expect? For you to abandon your principles, your belief in destiny? It’s who you are. Nearly thirty years of life guided by one belief can’t just be discarded like trash.
You liked to separate things into categories: good and bad, right and wrong. A simple method to structure everything, to make sense of your world, and it has worked most of the time.
But now? The limits of those sacred categories look blurred. Your judgment feels unreliable, and you wonder if the choices you’ve made lately have been the correct ones.
Each of your decisions seems to be leading you further down a path you can’t recognize. 
What’s the goal? Finding your soulmate, the voice in your head mockingly answers for the hundredth time, rolling its imaginary eyes. And where is he?
You’ve shut Logan out, a man who’s made it clear he has feelings for you, for this elusive person. Isn’t it time he steps into the light at long last?
This is what you fear the most: loneliness.
You don’t want to be the lone woman who sits by herself in a cafe, drawing pity from waitresses who discuss her solitude. By no means do you wish to be that friend who dispenses wise dating advice, but goes home to an empty bed. You refuse to become the godmother whose hand no one holds when her time comes.
No, this can’t be all fate has to offer to you. There must be more. If your life were a book, you’d be flipping through the pages to the last chapter, desperate to see how it ends.
Or, better yet, you’d grab a pen and rewrite it yourself. What kind of ending you’ll have—you’re not so sure about that.
It’s Sunday, one of those endless weekends where the only way to survive is by rearranging your entire apartment. You could manage it alone, but help would be nice—Wade’s help, to be more precise, would be perfect for this kind of task, and you find yourself knocking on his door. 
No answer. Deciding to dial his number to see if he’s fallen asleep, you try calling him, waiting through the rings until he finally picks up. “Hey.”
Except it’s not Wade’s voice that answers. “I’m sorry, who is this?”
The door swings open, and Logan appears right behind it, holding Wade’s phone to his ear.
He narrows his eyes, leaning against the frame, a single eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “How sad. You don’t remember what I sound like.”
You feel foolish for still being on the call, so you lock your phone, ending it. “Where’s Wade?” you ask, frowning as you hold your breath, your voice sharper than intended.
“Out and about. Didn’t tell me where he was going,” Logan replies, glaring at you as he raises the phone to your face. “He left without this.”
Abort mission! Nodding in agreement, you begin to step back. “Great, I’ll look for him later.”
You’re close to being locked up once again in the safety of your apartment when you hear him: “You need anything?”
It’s the most he’s said to you in weeks. You hesitate, keeping your back turned. “I’m moving some heavy stuff around. Thought I could use the help.”
“I could do it.”
No. Not really. He’s doing that thing again—offering help when you know you shouldn’t accept it. You shake your head.
“It’s not necessary,” you say, forcing a casual tone.
“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he retorts, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as they draw closer. With each passing second, your options shrink, leaving you no room for retreat. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to kiss you again if that’s what’s got you all worked up.”
“I’m not worked up,” you hiss, and he sidesteps you easily, his arm nudging yours.
The electricity is still there, undeniable, but neither of you has the courage to acknowledge it, acting as though it’s an ordinary occurrence.
His eyes roam the room, like he’s forgotten what your apartment looked like. He pauses by the bookshelf, his fingers gliding over the spine of Jane Eyre, and a low whistle escapes him as he slips it back into place. 
You, frozen at the threshold, feel your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and the urge to hide in your bedroom only becomes stronger.
After this, you’ll have to burn your favorite book. What a pity.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the loops of his jeans, his posture both confident and annoyingly relaxed.
There’s a challenge in his tone, and he acts as if you’re the one who pulled him into this situation—like he didn’t worm his way in here.
You gesture toward the couch. “Can you put it by the window?”
He sets to work, moving the smaller pieces of furniture aside to make space for the couch. Under no circumstances are you going to just stand there and watch him sweat.
Instead, you busy yourself with the long-forgotten glasses and cups gathering dust in one of the kitchen cabinets, each one glinting with past disappointments.
Wetting a towel, you start by wiping the rims. The air feels heavily charged with uneasiness, but you're relieved that for once, you can breathe without feeling like you’re on the brink of a heart attack.
You can already imagine Wade’s face when you tell him—
“So,” Logan’s voice cuts through the silence, startling you, “how’s the search going? Got any luck?”
His words have the desired effect on you, and the glass slips from your grasp, shattering against the floor in a crash that mirrors the jump of your heart. You curse under your breath, stepping back from the mess, taking in the shards sprawled around your shoes.
“Be careful,” he says from the other side of the room, still dragging the furniture into place, and you scrutinize him over your shoulder, your brows knitted.
“I don’t need your advice,” you murmur through gritted teeth as you crouch to pick up the larger shards. His attention returns to the couch, but you guess he’s not technically thinking how nice of a person you are.
As you kneel, your hands tremble slightly, and you wonder when that started. You fumble for a larger shard of glass, bracing your hand against the floor for balance, unaware of the smaller piece lying dangerously close to your fingers.
The sting comes fast, slicing through the skin of your pinky. You flinch, raising your hand, and Logan, hearing the faint wince, abandons his task and crosses the room to you.
"I don’t need your advice," he echoes, mocking your tone as he squats beside you, his hand closing around yours to inspect the wound. "You’re bleeding."
“Brilliant observation, Sherlock. I hadn’t noticed—” The words die in your throat, your eyes widening as you take a closer look at his hand. “Wait, why are you bleeding?”
He snorts, diverting his attention to his own hand. “What do you mean I’m—” Whatever it is he intended to shoot back remains unsaid as both of you stare down at the small cut in his pinky.
Driven by instinct, you place your hands side by side, your finger grazing his. The cuts are identical: same place, same width, same depth. The only difference is his vanishes within seconds, leaving only a few droplets of crimson blood as evidence.
Logan couldn’t have cut himself. He was nowhere near the glass. “Are you…?” You swallow thickly, trying to string together a coherent thought, dizziness making its triumphant appearance. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yes.”
“And what is that—”
“I need a drink.”
“Can you stop acting like a dick for one second?” You peer into his glossy eyes, watching him try to avoid your gaze, though he can’t seem to resist. “Please, Logan. Look at me.”
When he does, his mouth parts as if to speak, then closes again. “I don’t understand. I thought I didn’t have a soulmate.” His gruff tone slows even further, like he's straining to push the words from his lungs. “I thought—I thought I was alone.”
It explains so much: how your scars had reappeared once he and Wade returned from The Void. 
The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.
The dread that washed over you each time he walked away.
The dreams that plagued your nights, and the tightness in your chest these past few weeks that made you wonder if you could ever coexist in the same space as him without breaking apart.
All those times you felt he was getting closer weren’t just a figment of your imagination—he was, in fact, right there.
But he wasn’t just anyone—it was him. Logan is your soulmate. You two are meant to be together. How long would it take for you to truly believe it? Until it no longer sounded like something too good to be true?
Without uttering a sound, Logan gazes at you, silently pleading to see them. To see your scars. You extend your arm, and with a gentle motion, he rolls up the sleeve of your shirt, revealing the marks etched into your skin.
He runs his fingers along the lines, trying to understand the bond you now share—both his and yours.
In a sense, you’re his. You carry his scars, the physical manifestation of the life he has lived. Even though he may not bear any of his own, you do, and that’s more than enough.
He belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.
“There are more,” you tell him. your voice barely above a whisper. He stands, offering you his hand, and you take it, rising to your feet. Logan inches closer, his mouth hovering just above yours, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek.
The look he gives you is one reserved for those he loves, a look filled with such warmth and affection that it almost feels dreamlike.
“Do you want me to see them?” he inquires, and all he needs is a nod from you to gently tug your shirt up your chest and over your head.
He lets out a dry chuckle when you attempt to tame your hair, the effort proving to be in vain. The clock on the wall seems to pause its ticking the moment his fingers begin to trail each of the scars that captures his gaze.
You can’t even begin to fathom what thoughts might be swirling in his mind, but if the flicker of lust and desire you catch in his expression is anything to go by, you’re not so worried.
Logan’s touch carries an unexpected softness, a tenderness you never imagined a man like him could possess.
Deep down, you wish he understood that these scars don’t hurt, that they never have. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, prompting him to explore more of your skin, to claim you as his.
“Do you… like them?” he asks without meeting your eyes.
Do you like my scars? is the real question hidden underneath.
Do you like me? is the one he can’t bring himself to pronounce.
“They’re yours. I could never not like them.” 
Before you stands a man you once believed was meant to be your burden, your trial. Logan had been the earthquake sent to test your endurance, to see how much you could withstand before surrendering and waving the white flag.
The same fingers that once imprinted his mark on you now linger on the strap of your bra, waiting for you to decide whether to let him go further or stop.
Desire has a limit before it overwhelms. There’s only so much need a person can contain before it spills over, uncontrollable and raw.
This game, one you never learned how to play, feels as foreign to him as it does to you—neither of you knows the rules.
“Can I see more?” He’s still talking about the scars, still fumbling with the strap, and you nod, your eyelids growing droopier as you take his free hand and direct it to the front of your jeans.
He catches the hint, undoing the button with ease, allowing you to shed the last layers of restraint.
Bare, moments away from being completely naked, standing in stark contrast to Logan, who remains fully clothed, your stomach does a flip as he rubs his thumb along the sides of your underwear.
Leaning your forehead against his shoulder, you stifle a sigh when he splays his hand across your lower back, pulling you closer.
His rough grip tightens on your ass, testing the feel of you, while your breathing becomes shallow, erratic.
“What is it, honey?” He slides his fingers your stomach, just below your belly button, brushing a small scar in there. “Want me to touch you?”
“Yes,” you croak, the plea slipping out involuntarily, throwing your arms around his neck. He buries his face against your jaw, his lips parting against your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck.
You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat to him, breathless as you whisper: “I’ve waited so long.”
He moves toward the couch, and you follow, trying to anticipate what he’s got planned for you. “I know, baby. I know. You’ve waited long enough.” Guiding your body down, he has you lying horizontally on the sofa. He unhooks your bra, kneading your breasts with both hands, eliciting a ragged gasp from you. “But I’m here now. You don’t have to wait any longer,” he huffs by your ear, rolling your nipples between his fingers, his breath mingling with yours, each exhale warm and inviting. “Gonna let me make you feel good? Show you how much I’ve been thinkin’ about you?”
Instead of answering with real words, you surge forward, crashing your lips against with his, reveling in the way he cages you with his biceps, locking you up in a prison of desire from which you never wish to break free. He tries not to settle his full weight on top of you, attentive not to crush you.
As he nips at the column of your throat, you squirm beneath him, canting your hips up to seek the friction you crave.
He presses his knee against your center and you push back, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.
You can’t recall ever feeling this desperate, this overwhelmed by a man. But then again, he’s unlike any other you’ve encountered in your array of momentary hookups.
His kisses grow even more insistent as breathy moans roll off to your tongue, merging with the occasional creak of the couch beneath your movements.
Logan spreads your thighs wider, sinking to his knees on the floor to tug your lower half forward until your ass is almost hanging in the air. He places your thighs on his shoulders, supporting you as he leans in to pepper your soft flesh with kisses.
One can be certain that he’s marking your inner thighs with a hickey or two, the scratch of his beard feeling magnificent against your sensitive skin, and you can hardly bring yourself to think about the potential burn he’ll leave behind. Logan inhales your scent, the tip of his nose dangerously close to your cunt, and you tangle a hand in his hair as he continues to test your patience.
“Eager?” he wonders aloud, looking at you through his lashes. While maintaining eye contact, he presses a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties.
He does it again, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingers deftly pulling your underwear down your legs.
The first drag of his tongue along your folds has you scrunching your eyebrows in pleasure, tightening your grip on his hair. Logan moans against you, the sound muffled as he dips the tip of his tongue into your entrance, lapping at your arousal with an insatiable hunger.
The way you purr his name—a soft caress, a pat on his back that says Yeah, you’re doing fine—only spurs him on, infusing every one of his ministrations with fervor.
His longing for you radiates in the intensity of his touch, sending shivers through you, making you writhe because of his hands alone.
Your core throbs. Your skin prickles with electricity. Your legs quake on either side of his face. He’s hungry and you’re his feast. He’s parched and you’re the last bottle of water in an arid world.
Logan eats you out like this will be the only time he’ll have the privilege—each movement calculated, pushing all the right buttons, pulling out every trick he knows to make you think No, it doesn’t get any better than this. This is as much as one can get.
Then his fingers join the symphony of pleasure, pumping in and out of you as he keeps flicking your clit with expert precision, and your back arches from the couch, following his pace with your hips. He pushes back, you push forward—he pushes forward, you push back.
Who is enjoying this more: him or you?
His pointed tongue teases your bud, matched with the persistent hammering of his fingers plunged into your wet heat. The combination has you coming on his mouth, falling over the precipice while you struggle to keep yourself together.
Your walls flutter around his digits, and your cries fuse with his groans, both overshadowed by his insatiable desire to savor until the last drop of your release.
Shockwaves ripple through your body and you prop your weight on your arms to capture his lips in a fervent kiss, your eyes rolling rolling back in ecstasy as you taste yourself, a mix of sour and sweet.
In a frenzy, he sheds his clothes, practically tearing them away, and you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him in time with your kisses. Logan pulls back, panting against you, and you steal a glance at him.
Your gaze travels down to his hard cock, the tip a furious red, and he seizes your wrist.
“Why don’t you kiss it better?” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. In this moment, you’re taken aback by his beauty, and the urge to express it rises within you.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur against his thigh, showering his skin with heated kisses. You stare in disbelief at the trail of hair leading to his girth, mouth watering at the sight.
A kiss on the tip, followed by a broad lick along a prominent vein—Logan’s grip on the armrest tightens, his knuckles turning white. “So perfect.”
“Shut up,” he retorts breathlessly, but you revel in the strangled noise that escapes him as you take him deeper, his head disappearing between your lips. His palm rests on your nape, anchoring you in place. “Goddammit. The fuckin’—mouth you have on you.”
You try to take him in further once you’re feeling more confident, while Logan fights with all his might against the need to thrust his hips up into your warmth. He can’t stay still, grunting and smothering you with lavish praise that heightens your arousal, slick pouring out of you in waves.
“Pretty thing you are. Don’t even know how to function around you. You got me all—fuck, actin’ all stupid.”
At one point, he tells you to stop, because he doesn’t want to come just yet. You know what comes next as he rubs his cock along your folds, blending your wetness with his precum.
It’s sloppy, and dirty, and messy—and God, do you love it.
He sinks into you and the world collides in a way you never expected. Everything you thought you knew falls apart, leaving you stranded in unfamiliar territory.
You can’t comprehend how you’ve spent so many years without him. Without this.
Your lips find his, and he swallows every sound he punches out of your lungs. His thrusts grow harder and faster as you adjust to his size, how big he feels inside you.
He digs his fingers into the globes of your ass, yanking you towards his shaft every time he fucks into you. You feel the brush of his balls against your skin, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.
To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.
You come to understand it fully as his eyes flicker to yours, checking for any signs of discomfort in your features.
You understand why people write books and songs about love when he breathes your name in the shell of your ear, chanting how good you’re taking him, how tight and wet you are for him.
You understand the place love occupies in your life as the sound of your bodies slapping together creates a melody which has never been played before.
You understand why you’ve searched for this your entire life, lifting every carpet in hopes of uncovering the love you’ve pined for.
In the past, it had always felt like a race—finding your soulmate before the clock struck twelve. Now that you have him, you wonder what the future holds for you, how this connection will evolve.
For now, you can allow yourself the possibility of relishing the drag of his cock in your interior. His pace doesn’t falter for a second—something about mutants and their non-stop stamina, no doubt. He shoves a hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing circles on your already swollen bud.
Each time he fills you to the brim, you have to ground yourself, resisting the pull of an altered reality.
“So full,” you blurt out, mewling with a specially hard thrust, a chocked sob lodged in your throat. “Please, stay.”
It could mean many things: Please, keep fucking me. Please, don’t leave after this. Please, remain by my side form this moment onward, because I don’t know how to go on with my life now that I’ve experienced this closeness.
Whatever meaning he ascribes to your words is of little importance. He tightens his arms around you, kissing you deeply, tongue and teeth clashing as they compete to see who wins the battle. “Never. I’m never lettin’ you go, y’hear me?”
Heat pools in your lower back, a coiling tension radiating through your limbs. “You’re mine, princess. Can’t afford to lose you now that I found you. Gonna remind you every day.”
His rambling pushes you over the edge, your dripping cunt spasming around him as you reach your climax, moaning his name against his shoulder. You cling to him, convulsing beneath his body, and he grinds his hips into yours, his chest rumbling as he growls.
“Inside,” you mumble, extending your hand to press it to his waist. “Need you inside me. Please, I want it so bad.”
Logan stutters against you, his forehead falling against your collarbone as he finishes with one powerful thrust, his cock pulsing warm ropes of come within your cunt. You clench around him, whining as he prolongs both your pleasure and his, milking the last drop of his seed. His voice is a constant murmur, filling every space in the room until he slumps against you.
Night has fallen. The cut on your pinky no longer stings. Your scars, after all, are still there, nestled against Logan’s unmarked skin. You caress his back, sighing contentedly as a wave of peace washes over you.
You’ve never felt this relaxed.
Logan grasps your chin and tilts it up, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he mutters, his gaze roaming all over your face.
You cup his cheek, his rough stubble grazing your palm. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see.”
A genuine laugh pierces through the silence. the kind he rarely allows himself. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, his brow furrowing as he glances at you with love.
Love—hadn’t you pondered its existence for so long? Your fuel for living, the muse behind your best poems, a recurring motif in your fantasies.
Love now has Logan’s name written in ink, no longer a blank canvas awaiting its unknown owner. No—it’s all his now.
You’d do it all over again if it meant ending up like this, tangled and intertwined, with the promise of a future together. He has many stories to share—about his past universe, about himself. You have secrets to unveil, too. There’s so much you both have yet to discover about each other.
But time isn’t up. This isn’t a race, you remind yourself: things are just getting started.
Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up. Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.
Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.
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dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3
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